Comatose
by DeathFrisbee221
Summary: Subject 9 is an experiment, a human specially grown using a super serum thought to be lost many years ago along with its creator. But when she escapes, a certain band of superheroes are called together in order to stop her. Includes all of the Avengers apart from Thor. I'll think of a better title for this 'fic later, honest!
1. Chapter 1

**(The photo for this story isn't mine, and came from a website/blog called _Bookmaarks_. I'll provide a link if anyone's interested; just remove the spaces in order to use it: lauratj . blogspot . co . uk)**

**I'll just pre-warn you - this is going to be long. Like, really long. I've been working on this for ages, and I'm being quite lazy about it. Procrastination is a fickle thing... Anyway, read, review, and enjoy!**

I was awoken by two nurses.

Their faces filled my vision, but their features were blurred and distorted like faces in an old photograph. Bright light slammed into my eyes, and for a moment everything was scarred with black spots that shimmered and multiplied confusingly before finally fading away. Eventually, colours sharpened, and the edges of shapes became cleaner and more distinct, and I could make out my surroundings.

I was in some sort of white room, with sleek walls that seamlessly fell into an equally slick tile floor. Several trolleys were laid out neatly with dangerous-looking blades and needles, and trays of strange liquids in heavy-looking glass beakers lined the walls. At my shoulder, a machine bleeped urgently in time with my heart. Then it registered: it _was_ my heartbeat. I was connected to the machine with several thick wires taped to my chest.

My hearing was still strange, everything echoed like I was hearing everything from underwater. One nurse seemed to be talking to me; her mouth was moving, but the resulting speech came several seconds out of sync, and even then it was a hazy murmur that I struggled to understand. I shook my head, and that seemed to help. Some sound managed to seep through into my head, but even then my brain couldn't comprehend it, being too busy throbbing painfully with the effort to understand what the hell was going on.

"… you may feel groggy or ill, but that's quite normal and should wear off pretty quickly," the nurse said. Her words finally caught up with her fast-moving lips. She flashed me a dazzling smile which took me by surprise, before turning to her companion who was toting a clipboard and a pen like they were fearsome weapons.

"Subject 9 is awake," the nurse said clearly. I hazily realised that Subject 9 was me. That was my name. Was it a good name? What even was a name supposed to be like anyway?

"She seems disorientated, but her heart rate is average, and she is quickly adjusting." She continued to talk, whilst the other one scribbled furiously.

I took the opportunity to study my apparent captors. The one who'd been talking was clearly attractive with glossy black curls and sparkling blue eyes, and the biggest smile I'd ever seen. Only when she turned back towards me did I see the ugly blemish that spread across one side of her face, an angry purple and red mass that crept across her cheek and down her neck under the collar of her shirt. It looked swollen and painful - surely it hurt her to smile so much?

The other nurse was more severe - plain features, thin brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and dull grey eyes that watched my impassively from behind a large pair of glasses perched on her nose. She could've been anyone, anywhere, the sort of face that belonged in a crowd where no one looked twice. I already didn't like her. She seemed cold and distant. She'd be the person who watch a playground bully with his victim, and not give it a second thought. At least the other nurse tried to be nice, even if it was only a cheap mask.

Unsteadily, I pushed myself up. From what I could tell, I was on some sort of bed that had been combined with a sun lounger. It was far from comfortable. The edges dug into my neck and back, and I was glad to move and get rid of the stiffness that screamed in my joints. How long had I been here? That was the question that hovered uneasily at the edge of my mind, now revealed from the quickly-retreating fog that had numbed my senses and made my body its own. I tried to ignore it. I could work that one out when I was feeling a little more… solid.

Then I found I could go no further. No amount of tugging would let me forwards. I looked down with a strong sense of misgiving to find that I was tethered in place. Thick straps of leather were wrapped around my wrists, shackling me down. I experimentally flexed my wrists, leaning my body weight into the bonds in the hope that they might give. They didn't.

I suddenly felt horribly vulnerable. I was pinned to a cold slab rendered completely helpless, and totally exposed to whatever they wanted to throw at me. A sour taste filled my mouth, either from fear or a sudden surge of anger.

The black haired nurse was watching me sympathetically. She came to perch on the edge of my bed, and involuntarily I flinched, pulling my feet up and away until my knees were tucked under my chin in a defensive stance. My eyes bored holes deep into her skull.

"Hey, it's alright. You're safe." Her words dripped with honey, and I felt like a wasp being helplessly drawn towards her, intoxicated with sweet promises. Warily I let my legs down, and she patted my knee reassuringly. The contact made me shudder. I didn't know what it was, but that smile seemed a little too wide, like a crocodile's before it ripped its prey apart.

I found my voice. "Where am I?" The syllables were dry and hoarse, but I managed to spit them out.

"Subject can speak within the first few minutes of waking," said the other nurse, jotting down the incredibly obvious fact with a flourish and tweaking her glasses with barely-concealed self importance.

"Well duh," I muttered. I'd started talking - I wasn't about to stop.

"Of course she can! She _is_ human." The black haired nurse shooed indignantly, until the severe looking nurse reluctantly shuffled for the door.

She turned to glare at me. "Not completely." The cold intensity of her gaze, magnified by her glasses, chilled me to the bone. There was something ruthless in her, something cold and clinical that told me she wouldn't care if I died as long as she had my body to dissect and analyse. I was glad when the door slammed shut behind her.

The black haired nurse turned to smile at me again with straight white teeth. "I'm sorry about Emily."

I repeated the question. "Where am I?"

She patted my knee again, a meaningless gesture that merely made me feel even more uncomfortable. "You're in a laboratory," she said.

"What's that?"

She struggled for words. "It's a place of science and learning. Experiments. Things like that."

"Why am I here? Who are you?" A recent memory popped into my head. "What did the other woman mean, not completely?"

The nurse seemed surprise by my sudden flow of questions, my sudden thirst for knowledge, but nevertheless she answered in a slow tone, like I was a baby and didn't understand her. In a way, I felt like a child. My mind was slow and desolately empty of knowledge that should've been there, and everything seemed new and strange.

"Well, I'm Jen." She pointed at herself. "And you're here because this is your home. You were born here, grew up here. Some of the doctors knew you when you were a tiny embryo."

I struggled to make sense of her words. "Why? Is everyone made in a laboratory?" I must've sounded so stupid, so naive, but I was confused beyond belief.

"No!" She giggled a little at my ignorance, but soon stopped at the sight of my aggrieved face. "You were specially grown for an experiment. To be one of our greatest experiments actually." She winked. "It's quite an honour."

"Experiment?" I didn't like the word. It tasted too complicated, too full of hidden meaning.

She sighed. "I'm not really the person to be talking to you about this. Ask the doctor, he'll be in soon."

Jen got up to leave, but I managed to cram in one last question.

"Do I really need to be tied down?" The leather was uncomfortably tight and chafed painfully, but that wasn't the only reason I wanted rid of them. They made me feel like an animal that had to be secured and caged before being deemed to be safe.

She nodded apologetically. "They're just an extra precaution for your own safety as well as our own."

"Precaution? But I'm not dangerous!" In my mind I knew that I wouldn't willingly hurt or kill any of these people, even though their company made me feel uncomfortably vulnerable. Evidently nobody here trusted me.

"I'm afraid that's for us to decide." She smiled a thin sympathetic smile at my weak protests, before heading to the door, the heels of her shoes clicking loudly against the tile. She hesitated a little, glancing over her shoulder, and opened her mouth like she wanted to say something. But then she thought better of it, swallowing the words before slipping through the door.

I was left in cold silence. I took the opportunity to strain at my bonds properly, throwing my whole weight into my shoulders, willing the leather to loosen or fray. Nothing happened. A fan whirred calmly overhead, and the cold air washed over my face and easily pierced the thin nightgown I was wearing. I was quickly shivering bitterly.

At that moment the door swung open, and another person walked in, this time a young man in a spotless white lab coat and carrying a clipboard loaded with sheets. I caught a glimpse of paragraphs of figures and numbers, and strange black and white diagrams that made no sense.

"Hello, my name is Doctor Winter," the man said. I instantly approved of his name. I guessed that he was handsome, with thick brown hair and an attractive smile, but his eyes ruined the image. They were an glassy blue, and completely emotionless. Like when ice settles over a pond so that you couldn't see what swam beneath.

He pulled up a chair next to me, and sat rifling through his notes, occasionally pausing to scribble something here or there. Eventually he looked back up, as if just remembering that I was still there. "You're health statistics are fine," he said. "Your heart rate, blood pressure, and internal functions are all working smoothly. I asked for x-rays to be run on you," he gestured at the weird black and white diagrams, "and bone structures and growth are all fine, as we expected. We've tested reflexes and reactions to various stimulants whilst you were asleep, and everything is as predicted, taking into account your… abnormalities." He said the last word delicately, and his eyes dropped from my face, seeming to be suddenly fascinated by the results on his clipboard.

"Sorry, abnormalities?" What did he mean?

"Didn't one of the nurses tell you?" He looked annoyed; he didn't want to be the one who broke the news.

I shook my head mutely.

"Right." He settled his frosty blue gaze on me intently. "You're an experiment."

Experiment. One of the nurses mentioned that word earlier.

"We've fiddled with your DNA using a special serum," he said. "You were designed, created to be the perfect human being."

My head was spinning in bewilderment. Long words, complicated words that I didn't understand, and yet were making more and more horrible sense the more I listened.

"Perfect?" I whispered.

He nodded. "Yes. We tried to remove most human flaws, making you faster, stronger, more resilient, and with heightened senses. Smell, sight, that sort of thing. We've increased your brain size and IQ so as to make you cleverer and quicker at solving problems. We've even looked at your internal system, increasing the speed of certain processes such as digestion. Your lungs are bigger so that you can hold your breath for longer. Faster reflexes, increased healing… You are the world's first truly perfect human."

He spoke with a robotic sort of enthusiasm; he was talking about something he was passionate about but yet he fumbled clumsily for words. I concluded that he didn't like talking to children, or people really, especially the stupid ones. And I was a stupid child. The perfect storm. As he talked, his eyes melted a little, so that I could see a glint of true emotion beneath the surface, and all of a sudden I wanted to get away, anywhere, so that I wasn't anywhere near this man. I'd seen the same flicker in Jen's eyes when she'd smiled, and I hadn't recognised it. But now I did.

Madness.

These people. They were all completely insane with this idea of 'the perfect human'. They had managed to create me, but I felt several hundred miles away from perfect. In fact, I didn't even want to be perfect. Right now, I wanted to be normal, as being normal meant being safe.

I had to get out of here.

"So." The madness had faded, but I could sense that it still lurked shadow-like under the surface. "How do you feel?"

"A bit sick." That was true. My head ached persistently, and my stomach was doing desperate little flips, either in hunger or just plain fear, but either way I was resisting the urge to spray vomit.

"That's very normal. But how," he leaned in, "do you _feel_?"

Oh. He wanted emotions. At that moment, I felt like an emotions smoothie, even though I wasn't really sure what a smoothie was, but I chose the most obvious one from the top. There was no way that I was opening up my head for Doctor Creepy to rummage around in.

"Confused," I said.

He looked satisfied, and jotted something down on his clipboard. "We attempted some information downloads whilst you were asleep, so as to update your knowledge. We don't know how the downloads went since they're still pretty recent technology, but you should have the knowledge of a regular fourteen-year-old, even without the schooling. We also tried to simulate some dreams for you to interact with, but your brain rejected them." He glared at me accusingly. "Not many people can do that."

How many people had they tested it on? I felt sick with revulsion but managed to mutter a faintly sarcastic retort. "Well apparently I'm not just anybody."

I watched him hastily scribble a note: _Subject shows signs of humour._

"Today I'd advise for you to get some rest. You've been asleep in a coma for a very long time, and it might take a while for your arms and legs to recover. Oh, and Jen will bring some food in, although go steady. You've been on drips for quite a while, and it might take a bit of time for your digestive system to kick in and start processing solids again." He stood as if to leave. "We'll start the tests this afternoon."

"Tests?"

"Yes, tests." he looked at me as if I were completely stupid. Well, perhaps not stupid. More like incredibly slow on the uptake. "This afternoon we'll start slowly; take some blood samples, run a couple of chemical tests on your body to see how it holds up. Tomorrow we'll test you mentally. Run you through a few exams testing intelligence as well as the data you've managed to absorb from the download. I want to put you through several simulations to test decision making and puzzle solving, as well as emotions triggered in certain situations. And I know that the psychology department are dying to have a word with you. We'll leave physical tests for another day so that you can gain your bearings. We'll take you down to the gym, test speed, strength, agility and reflexes, and I personally want to see you pushed to your very limits." He leered a little at the prospect.

I was in no hurry to jump through hoops and balance a ball on my nose whilst clapping for these people like a performing animal, but I couldn't exactly refuse. I remembered the nurse called Emily, the cold way she watched me. I could probably die here and no one would really care. Hell, no one might even find out. I was a mere experiment, and if they decided I was past my sell-by-date, there was nothing I could do. I was dealing with dangerous forces - and I should play along in case I got hurt, or worse.

"Um, okay," I agreed slowly, although I probably didn't have much of a say in the matter.

"Good. I'll send Jen in with some food." He was almost at the door, before I blurted a question.

"Could I have some clothes?"

He turned to look at me.

"Please," I added as an afterthought.

"Clothes?" He sounded bemused, almost a little surprised that I should ask for such a thing.

"Yeah. I'm really cold."

He looked thoughtful, and I thought he was about to write my request down. Anything I said seemed to be jotted down as if it was of the utmost importance. "Yes of course," he said finally. "I'll see what I can do."

He left, and Jen shortly reappeared, a bundle of clothes slung over one arm, and a tray of steaming food carefully held with both hands. I sniffed appreciatively. Whatever it was, it smelt good, and my stomach gurgled in agreement.

She set the tray down, and placed the clothes at the foot of my bed. "Food and clothes, as requested," she said brightly. "But first, you need a shower."

She cautiously unfastened my restraints, and I shot upright. My wrists were red and raw, but that was the last thing on my mind. I was finally free!

"Don't go crazy," she warned, and a shadow of panic passed over her face for a second.

"I won't," I promised. Although I needed out, I needed food, clothes and a wash more.

After peeling off the tubes taped to my chest (which was curiously satisfying as well as painful), I pushed myself onto my feet, and the whole world swung round and round in quickly accelerating circles. I swayed unsteadily, and Jen quickly caught hold of my arm. Everything felt numb and awkward; surely my legs were too long?

There was a second door set into the wall, and she pushed it open to reveal a glass cubicle.

"You'll be alright in here, there are bars set into the walls that you can use for support," she said kindly. "Push the button to turn the shower on. You wash your hair with the shampoo and conditioner, in that order. Rinse it all out and don't get any in your eyes. If you do, rinse it out with cold water from the sink. The pink gel is for your body, and you should also keep that out of your eyes. And finally, take the nightgown off before you get in. I'll leave the clothes in here. Just yell if you need a hand." She turned to go, leaving me clinging to the rail for dear life, but then thrust a big soft thing into my arms. "Oh, and you'll need this. It's a towel, for drying yourself before putting on the clothes." She grinned - was that amusement at my childish feebleness? - and shut the door behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here you go guys! Next chapter, as promised. Enjoy, review, etc, now on with the show! *bows and doffs top hat***

I emerged a while later successfully showered despite the bombardment of new information, a little red after scrubbing myself with the strange gel, and my hair hanging in a damp tangle, but completely clean and in a pair of jeans with an orange t-shirt emblazoned with some strange symbol. I assumed it was the laboratory's logo, and thought how kind it was of them to give me some of their own special merchandise, but another part of me was uneasy. It would make me stand out a mile; the bright colour and distinctive logo would be child's play to pick out from the blank white environment on the screen of a security camera. And no doubt they would have cameras focused on my every move. Since I was the 'perfect' human being they'd strived so hard to create, they weren't going to let me out of their sights that quickly.

I also noticed that they hadn't provided any shoes. The tiled floor felt cold and unfriendly against my bare soles, a reminder that I wasn't as safe as I hoped. Although if they did decide to kill me, shoes wouldn't make much difference…

After my wash, I felt a lot better. My head wasn't ringing as much, and I could stand without aid even though walking was still a nightmare. And I was starving. Doctor Winter had told me to eat slowly, and however mad he was, I guessed he was still a qualified professional. But his advice went down the drain as soon as I tasted the first delicious mouthful. After that, it was a bit of a blur that ended with a plate literally licked clean and a deep rooted ache in the pit of my stomach. I felt a sudden urge to throw up - somehow I knew it would make me feel a lot better - but I stubbornly held it down.

As soon as I'd finished, Jen patted the bed. "The doctor said you needed some rest," she beamed.

I eyes the leather straps reluctantly. There was no way that I was getting back onto that thing. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not go back to sleep," I said pointedly. "Since I've been asleep for so long." That bit still didn't make much sense, that I'd been asleep for my whole life. A coma, they'd said. That was fourteen years, asleep. My whole childhood just poured down the drain. Maybe I'd spent my entire life in this room, on that very bed. I tried not to think about that part. It just made me aware of the gaping hole in my chest, the memories and experiences that had been ripped away, and would never come back.

She laughed. Was it my imagination, or was that smile becoming a little bit forced? "You need to rest up. You've got tests tomorrow, and you'll feel better." She smiled encouragingly, but she didn't look friendly anymore. Her scarred face looked twisted in the harsh light.

"I'm fine thanks." I backed up a step, wobbling precariously, but I managed to keep my balance. I felt urgency pulsing through my blood, a silent signal that distantly whispered _danger_. Adrenaline began to leak through my veins, as if in preparation to fight or flee.

She was approaching me now, and the madness was back in her eyes. All of her fluffy smiles and gentle promises were gone now, and she looked angry. A hot metallic smell was coming off of her in waves, one that made my heat throb and my stomach convulse. I clapped a hand over my mouth and nose, but it just kept coming.

As I watched, she produced a remote from her pocket and pressed one of the buttons. "Subject 9 is showing signs of rebellion," she said clearly into the mouthpiece.

I backed up another step. My legs felt like stilts and everything was too long and too heavy. I still didn't have the strength to control myself and I struggled for balance. My mouth was dry in anticipation. The smell had lessened, and I could bear it now without the taste of bile rising on my tongue.

Suddenly, Jen lunged forwards, fingers like talons outstretched to grab me. I had no doubt that once she got hold of me, that would be it. I'd be back on that slab, tethered down and awaiting whatever tortures or experiments they wanted to run on me. I might never get another chance of freedom, not after this act of disobedience. Instinctively I leapt backwards, but that was too much for my shaky balance, and I fell, arms windmilling wildly in an attempt to find some purchase on the wall behind me.

A flailing hand smacked into a trolley of equipment and trays of polished implements spilled to the floor, glittering metal and ruthless blades smashing onto the tiles in a hideous collusion of metal on metal. One caught my hand, a scalpel with a keen blade that winked evilly before slashing my palm open.

The pain was instantaneous. Blood welled from the cut and blossomed out over my fingers until it dripped sickeningly to the floor, black-red against the white, glistening wetly. It wouldn't stop coming. I didn't move, watching with a horrified fascination at that deep colour oozing into the lines of my palm and painting my palm hot and sticky.

My hand was on fire, burning with a feverish heat and pulsing painfully in time with my heart. I knew that my senses had been sharpened, but nothing could've prepared me for this. The metallic smell was gone, this time replaced with the sickly-rich scent of my own blood, clogging my nose and throat, so that I almost couldn't breathe.

Jen had halted. She looked horrified. Well I was a precious experiment, and that I should've gotten injured on her watch… She took out her remote again, pressing that hateful button. She was about to speak. Surely they had cameras in here, but maybe they didn't have sound? That was what the remote was for, and I couldn't let her use it.

That was when it happened.

The remote exploded. Somehow the circuits must have shorted, and the device spat burning-white sparks and chunks of hot plastic. Most of them landed on Jen's face and neck, not to mention scalding her hand so that she had to drop it. Her screams echoed eerily of the shiny walls as she collapsed to the floor.

For a few seconds, I was frozen. What the hell had just happened? It was completely beyond me, and in the end I scrambled to my feet, grabbing a thick roll of bandage from the trolley to wrap around my hand before staggering for the door. I kept my eyes firmly averted from Jen's unconscious body. Part of me felt bad for leaving her, but the other part didn't care. _She was evil!_ it screamed, and I couldn't help but agree.

I could already see a red shadow seeping through my bandage; I'd wrapped it as best as I could but it kept unravelling, and all I could do was to hope it stopped the flow a little.

Cautiously, I peered out into the hallway. It was blissfully empty. Perfect.

My bare feet made no noise, and I was silently grateful for being given no shoes. Although it would be troublesome later on if I was to make my escape. I pushed this thought away, and continued to warily slink down the corridor. It was all just as blank as my room, with clean white walls sloping into the floor. Doors with thick glass windows broke the endless walls at regular intervals. I looked down, and cursed. My hand was dripping a little, and the small spots of blood were striking against the floor. It would be obvious which way I'd gone. Even then, I was hopelessly lost and had no idea which way I was supposed to go.

And that was when my tiny reservoir of luck ran out.

Several scientists rounded the corner, and my sudden and rather dishevelled appearance caused them to leap back in shock.

"W-w-who are you? W-w-what do you want here?" one stammered angrily. A poor impression of authority. But they didn't know about me, which was a gloriously shiny little nugget of knowledge that I tucked into my pocket for safe keeping. That meant I would only be recognised by a select few, and as long as I was fast and silent, I would have the element of surprise.

A hasty plan formed in my mind, and I gave a pretend sniff, letting my face crumple into a shockingly realistic sob. "I was with my school group, but then I got lost and I don't know where I am!" I collapsed into a fit of tears, which wasn't actually that hard. I merely let the truth of my entire existence fill me up until it spilled out.

If I wasn't running for my life, the looks on the scientists' faces would've been hysterical. They looked confused and suspicious (I didn't exactly look like a kid on a school trip), as well as embarrassed with a side helping of helplessness, as in _What the heck am I supposed to do with a crying child? Do I pat it on the back or what?_

"You'd better come with us." He attempted a sympathetic smile but it came out as more of a pained grimace. And this was the last thing I wanted to do. If they started looking into my seriously cliché story and discovered that it was a pack of tearstained lies, they'd have me exactly where they wanted.

"Um…" I inched back, trying a scared little girl act. "But I don't know you."

"We'll find your, uh, _school group_, and get you back safely," he promised. The emphasis on school group set alarm bells ringing in my head. He didn't believe my cover story. Neither did the others.

I backed up and they followed. Smiles were gone; they meant business.

A multitude of options ran through my brain, all tangled together in multi-coloured strands like a ball of wool after a cat has finished with it, until I couldn't make out one from another. But they all ended up forking off into two different choices that were hardwired into every living creature's DNA: fight or flight. I chose the first one.

Lashing out caught them by surprise - they hadn't expected me to put up any sort of resistance (at least my 'cowardy custard' performance had been taken seriously). My one good hand curled into a fist, I aimed a solid punch at the nearest guy's stomach. He crumpled like paper, his face a nasty shade of powdery white.

Another scientist launched himself in my direction, white lab-coat flapping like a superhero cape, and impulsively I swung round and pushed him back firmly. He was propelled back, slamming into the wall with a resounding crack before sliding to the floor limply.

They'd said I was stronger than an average human. They hadn't specified how strong. I gazed in astonishment, but a cold feeling was creeping over my skin. Guilt? Two men were on the floor unconscious at my hands. But was it fear? Fear at the extent of my power and the things I could do?

One of the scientists was stood there. He watched me with terror, shrinking back against he wall under my gaze. One hand surreptitiously crept towards a small red button fixed to the wall under a glass case.

Any cover I'd had was now smashed in glassy shards across the floor. There was only one thing left I could do. I fled.

I skidded to a halt as a siren blared out from every direction. For a moment I was deafened. I was used to the sterile silence broken perhaps by the clipped tone of a doctor, or the hushed whispers of scientists who knew too much. But the noise that met me was an inhuman scream, a harsh screech that bored into my skull and pulsed through my head until I couldn't think. I cursed silently, my teeth gritted in a grimace of pain. Great. Clearly the word was out about my escape, and getting out of here would be three times harder than originally foreseen. They wouldn't let their precious experiment go willingly. I tightened my bandage and pressed both palms to my ears in a futile attempt to block out the tumultuous yowl. Then I broke back into a run.

It felt better, running. My bare soles slapped the chilly tiles and adrenaline surged through me like an electrical current. Even the noise lessened as if it were unable to keep up with me. Even though I was running for what felt like my life, I wondered how come I could run when half an hour ago I could barely stand. A sentence popped into my mind: _sometimes you've got to run before you can walk_. I wasn't sure where it came from but it was damn appropriate at that moment. Gone were the wobbles, the jelly-legs, the feeling of being on stilts and everything being just _too_ long and _too_ heavy. Instead, I actually felt good. My legs ate up the corridors with a powerful ease, and I skidded around corners like a professional ice-skater. And all the while my heart pounded with a feverish excitement, and my blood tingled with an energy that made the hairs on my arms and neck stand bolt upright. Surely they couldn't catch me. They'd never keep up. I _could_ make it out of this hellhole.

Corridor after corridor flashed by. At each fork, I randomly picked a hallway, hoping that it might actually lead somewhere, but each one was as blank and white as the next, routinely dotted with shiny silver doors with thick glass windows. At one point I slinked up to a random window and peered through into one room, barely able to contain my curiosity for what these strange people were doing, and saw a woman enveloped in a lab coat several sizes too big for her, weighing a pot plant. It seemed that I was the most interesting experiment on the premises, which gave me a slight sense of smugness which I hastily smothered before I could start feeling ashamed of myself.

I'd finally reached somewhere different after tossing a mental coin at yet another fork (don't ask why, it just seemed like a logical thing to do at the time), that branched off in two, three different directions and ended with a large set of glass-fronted double doors. Outside, I could see colour, proper colour rather than the whites and metallic greys that surrounded me. A wondrously blue sky, creased with wisps of pearly cloud, seemed to beckon me forwards. It looked warm, inviting, and most importantly, safe. It was big; I could lose myself out there. Lose this place, and then they would lose me.

The siren finally stopped. I sighed with relief, took a hopeful step forwards my freedom. That was when it all went pear-shaped.


	3. Chapter 3

The arrival of five guards cradling hefty guns made the situation a little more… interesting. Their faces were set as hard as stone. If I'd been a gurgling toddler they wouldn't have blinked at the idea of pulling the trigger. I stared stupidly down the four barrels being pointed at my heart. Time seemed to slow down from a roaring torrent to a mere trickle. Surely they wouldn't kill me? They couldn't. I was wanted. Needed. Unless I was now thought of as too dangerous and too unpredictable to be allowed to continue. Was I just going to be shut down, a project considered faulty and thrown away?

Behind me, several dozen scientists had blocked my routes of escape. They looked determined, but shaking hands confirmed that they were complete amateurs. None of their other creations had backfired like I had or shown enough free will to cause problems. That's what I was. A problem.

I swallowed back the lump in my throat with some difficulty. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of tears, but neither was I going to troop back to my prison obediently. Instead, I turned my wide-eyed gaze back on the guards primed and ready to open fire. Several of them methodically clipped vials of liquid into their weapons, completely regardless of the suspense they were building, instead tenderly handling the things like they were newborn children.

What was in those vials? Poison? The clear liquid looked harmless enough, but in the hands of people this evil it could've easily been able to melt my bones or stop my heart in a mere second. And yet… I was still valuable. The fact that I'd run surely made my psychology more interesting, more fascinating for those queueing up to study me. And that's when it hit me.

It wasn't a poison. It was a tranquilizer. They were never going to kill me, I was stupid to think that. They just wanted me asleep; sedated so I was manageable, so I could go back to the room with the blank walls and hanging veil of chill and the bed with the leather straps, and this time they wouldn't make the mistake of ever letting me go again. I'd be buckled down for whatever tests they wanted to throw at me and whatever chemicals they wanted pumped down my throat. And running, running hadn't helped. They knew what I was capable of: my strength, my speed. Even now the information was probably being processed on endless screens of data, my heart rate monitored, my facial expressions and body language registered and banked on a database. I'd given them what they'd wanted, and next time round, it would be impossible to escape. They wouldn't stumble twice over the same hurdle.

All of a sudden, I felt my age. Just a terrified teenager in a world of adults far more complex and terrible than I'd dared to hope. My exits were blocked, guns trained on me ready to release a hail of darts if I so much as twitched. All I could do was watch as at a barked order, one of the guards took aim. His eye was glued to the sight, finger impatiently squeezing the trigger.

I shut my eyes, unable to watch. I could already feel the needles piercing my skin, injecting their deadly load into my blood that would force me back into a dreamless sleep. Instinctively I raised a hand in front of my face, as if it might provide some sort of protection.

A crash and a sudden yelp caused my eyes to snap open. The guard about to shoot me had pulled the trigger, and then the weapon had spat hot golden sparks in all directions, and clattered to the floor. It lay there now, wheezing thick black smoke, whilst the guard hugged his hands to his chest and watched the weapon in horror.

Weapon malfunction. Huh. My lucky day. Although, it did trigger a memory of another explosion that saved my skin. When that remote had blown up, injuring Jen and allowing my escape. The two events were strangely similar, and I narrowed my eyes at the charred carcass that lay smoking on the floor. Maybe this was a test, to see how I reacted when given a chance to get away. Or maybe it was simply beautiful luck.

The head of the troop, an important looking man with a moustache to match, glared at me accusingly. "What did you do?" he bellowed.

I was stunned. "What did _I_ do?" I retorted hotly. "I stood here whilst your henchman tried to shoot me!"

He clearly didn't believe me. Maybe it was the 'shifty look in my eye' or the 'gun at my belt' that didn't quite fit my honest answer.

The guard gingerly picked up the gun, fiddling with various components before declaring it broken. I knew that before he even picked it up; sparks flickered weakly over the warm metal and various parts had been blown off. The rest were blackened and enveloped in a thin cloud of steam.

What was going to happen now? I knew in my heart that just because one man failed, the others wouldn't try. I could see them stepping up now, three of them, all with weapons primed to fire. This time, there would be no mistakes. I wouldn't get lucky this time. This time, this was it.

The commander of the squad felt a twinge of something that could've been pity for the pathetic creature in front of him. A blood-soaked bandage was loosely wrapped around one hand, and a damp tangle of hair obscured most of her face apart from a haunted pair of ghost-grey eyes. As he watched, she sucked in a shuddering breath, and let her eyes flutter shut. He swallowed uneasily. He had no idea what the facility was doing with a child, and neither, he reason, should he care. It wasn't his place to question the people who paid him. As long as they did pay him and his men, and paid them well, he kept his mouth shut and aimed straight. But in that second, he almost felt that what he was doing was _wrong_. He shouldn't hand an innocent kid back to those doctors in white coats - there was something not quite right about them, something cold and detached about them like they'd been broken when they were young, like a child's Christmas present that doesn't make it through to the New Year in one piece. He was almost swayed. But then he remembered the fat pay cheque he'd be handed after the job, and greed swamped his senses back into a numbed coma.

He gave the order.

I braced myself for the impact.

Waited.

And waited.

I heard the click of the triggers, the _woosh_ of the tiny missiles as they bulleted through the air. But nothing came, nothing slammed into my flesh in a cacophony of pain and oily wooziness.

A whisper rose up around me. If I were outside, I would have thought it was the wind. But when I listened closely, I could hear incredulous tones and words flowing around me, as well as the unmistakable scratch of someone scribbling frantically with a biro.

I peeked through an eyelid cautiously, and what I saw made me suck in a strangled gasp.

I could see the darts, nasty little things as I'd predicted with tiny glass pouches on the ends of the most evil looking needles I'd ever seen. They weren't _in_ me, in fact they weren't even touching me.

They instead hung several inches way from my chest.

And I do mean, _hung_. Suspended in front of me as if each one was hung on delicate invisible wires. They resembled an ugly swarm of giant locusts, frozen in their designated path as if reluctant to reach their final destination. If I were to step forwards, then they would pierce my shirt. Another step would send their barbs tearing through my skin.

I blinked. This was unexpected. Surely this was impossible; a tiny snowflake of information melted into my mind, sending its information trickling in a cold stream into my ear. Physics wouldn't allow it - gravity should pull them all down, or something like that. And how had they not hit me anyway?

The scientists gazed at me in open awe, jaws slack as for the first time in their lives they simply couldn't think of a logical explanation. I couldn't either, but strangely I wasn't that surprised. When I'd woken up, I'd discovered that I was a top secret, most probably illegal genetic experiment. I hadn't thought my day could get any weirder, but admittedly having several tranquilizer darts hover a few inches from my chest as if by some mystical force wasn't something I could've predicted.

The guards were a little taken aback, and milled for a few seconds in complete bewilderment before their faces hardened and, with seemingly great difficulty, they brought themselves back to the task at hand. They pulled hand tasers from inside their jackets (was there anything these guys weren't prepared for?) and approached me warily.

It seemed as if they had concluded that I was somehow immune to projectiles, and instead chosen to take me down with a more close range weapon. I had but a few precious seconds to think. As long as I remained outside of their range, then I had a fair chance. But I was outnumbered five to one, with several dozen ringing me in in case the situation got hairy. If only I could take them down somehow before they reached me. Then I could get a clear run to the glass doors, and out of this nuthouse. I tried to think of some way I could defend myself, maybe a weapon that would balance out my disadvantage, but the ominous crackle of electricity from the tasers made me want to skitter back like a rabbit at the sight of a shotgun.

_Help me_, I thought desperately. To whom the plea was going to I wasn't sure - probably the entity whose kind donations of luck had kept me free and relatively sane so far.

Time seemed to trickle to a sluggish stop. Like when the wind sighs its last breath, and slowly fades away into a still nothingness. And in that frozen moment, I watched placidly as the darts once meant to take me down flipped head-over-tail smoothly and flew in the opposite direction.

Flashes of glass and needles eager to bite.

Time broke back into its usual steady jog. For a moment, the scene was just as it had been, and I briefly wondered if the entire thing had just been a deluded hope-ridden hallucination. Then one of the guards staggered, clutching at his chest. His face was screwed up so tight I was amazed it didn't wrinkle permanently. Then he collapsed to the floor. A single dart protruded from his neck.

Then another guard fell, unconscious before he crumpled to the ground. And another. Three darts. Three victims. Each one had found its mark and mercilessly taken down its victim easily.

If anything, this confused me even more. Missiles that could defy gravity and then apparently tap into people's thoughts. Because that had to be what had happened. They'd heard me somehow; I'd needed a weapon and instantly they'd turned on their previous masters. But how did that work? I knew I was different, special even, but even I knew that what had happened was totally implausible. And yet it had happened.

I stored my quandary away for later. I'd have time to think about it once I crawled out of this mess, and frankly the mere notion of being something 'magical' or 'supernatural' was giving me one hell of a headache. Right now, I had an opportunity, and was going to make sure that I used it.

I darted forwards, hoping that my vague plan would work. All I had to do was will the tasers not to touch me, and surely they should just deflect harmlessly around me, like with the darts.

One of the guards lunged forwards in an attempt to press the stun gun to my chest, the end sparking with hot electricity. A few inches from my chest, the gun jerked backwards, and instead landed on its owner. The singed smell of burning fabric clotted the air, and the guard, letting out a strangled shriek, spasmed wildly before collapsing to the ground, his limbs still flailing wildly as if on strings.

The last guard hung back, no doubt reluctant to get fried. I would be if I were in his boots.

At this point, a whispered murmur had whisked up like a faint breeze within the crowd of gathered people. _Telekinesis_, they seemed to breathe._ Impossible_. A few of them were even daring to edge closer perhaps in the hope of snagging an arm or a shoulder to hinder my progress.

I was forced to shuffle forwards uneasily. They were getting restless; their precious experiment was too close to escape for comfort, and eventually they would step in - that would make things a lot more complicated.

I had to get out, and I had to do it now, whilst they were distracted.

I threw caution to the wind, and in a frantic last ditch attempt sprang forwards towards the glass doors, every muscle tensed for impact.

The guard, despite his obvious fear, threw himself forwards bravely, arms outstretched to stop me from dodging to either side. But it was too late for that; my momentum carried me forwards so that I sent the both of us tumbling to the ground in a writhing mass.

He was winded for a moment, both from my weight however slight, and the jarring slam of cold tiles against his spine. As soon as we landed I was scrambling to my feet, clawing at the air for balance.

A hand shot out, caught me by the shoulder and wrenched me back. I yowled in pain as the guard's fingernails raked at soft flesh, but was cut short as his determined grasp found my throat.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Needed. Air.

My lungs screamed for release. My hands scrabbled uselessly at my neck, trying to pry away iron fingers, but to no avail.

I was going to die. Well, I wasn't supposed to, and yet here I was, slowly suffocating. For some strange reason, no scientists were kicking up a fuss. Maybe they'd realised that I was just too dangerous to remain alive. Just another project flushed down the drain like an unwanted spider.

The fingers dug in a little further, sending a spasm of pain through my neck. Then, I felt something snap, heard a resounding _crack_, then a scream.

I was released, and for a moment I lay sprawled on the floor as I hauled gasp after gasp of sweet, sweet air into my chest.

I got a shock when my vision finally cleared. The guard cowered on the floor, one hand cradling the other. When I saw why I gagged on a sudden wave of bile.

Every single one of his fingers had been broken. Snapped and twisted out of place so that the white bone had ripped through skin, and weeping tears of blood and pus pooled in the folds of his uniform.

I staggered to my feet, and this time when I made for the doors no one went to stop me. All the doctors kept their distance. Some screamed for security whilst others hurriedly garbled into walkie-talkies.

Had it been me? Had I broken that man's hand? My brain threw a word at me that I had heard previously: Telekinesis. What did it mean? Maybe it meant what had happened when I had stopped the darts, when that man's hand had been horribly mangled, possibly even when equipment had blown up with seemingly no explanation. I felt sick to the stomach at the idea of how destructive I was.

If anything, I was a weapon. A biological weapon.

I tried the door. Locked, obviously.

I grinned a little, cracked my knuckles, and focused on the glass. Surely if I could break flesh and bone, a small pane of glass should be no problem. I urged the glass to crack, concentrated hard on an image of it shattering into tiny fragments.

With an ear splitting shriek, a crack appeared. Then another. And another. I pushed harder, and a cobweb of fractures rippled along its surface, until the entire structure collapsed in on itself with a crash that set my teeth on edge.

Sweet.

The sunshine swept in on a breath of wind, and for the first time I felt the sun on my face, inhaled the scent of _outside_. Eagerly I tipped my face upwards to catch an eye-watering glimpse of the sky, and as I stepped outside, wincing slightly as glass crunched underfoot, a small flare of hope rose up within me and refused to die.

**Just to clarify, someone asked me in the reviews: **

**"I know its stupid question but is she the daughter of cap and black widow that was stolen or kidnapped? I'm just curious." **

**The answer, I'm afraid, is no (sorry to all you Black Eagle/BlackCap fans out there). However, I am planning to have a bit of a thing between this character and Captain America, although definitey not romantically. They might possibly treat each other as relatives, since they're linked by the Super Soldier Serum? I'm not completely sure at the moment...**

**Either way, I hoped that cleared up any queries. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Reviews are always welcome. And just as a point of reference, I don't think Harry Potter is crap (you'll understand that statement in several sentence's time)! So enjoy!**

"Impossible!" Barton couldn't believe it. Sure, he'd met Thor, a six-foot blonde Action Man with the almost cliché power of summoning lightening, but he was an alien. Normal on the planet of Asgard suspended deep in unexplored space. But this, this was something new. Truly extraordinary. He might even go far enough as to call it real magic rather than the Harry Potter crap everyone lapped up like parched Labradors these days.

The man opposite him removed his thin-rimmed wire spectacles and wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. Call it a nervous habit. "When was this taken?"

"Two hours ago," Fury growled. He stood at the head of the glass conference table next to a floor-to-window view of New York. His usually impassive features were twisted with some unintelligible emotion that gradually devoured him from the inside. He seemed to only just able to keep it from spilling out across his face - even though he was an ex-CIA agent, the instinct to keep a permanent poker face during emergencies was just as strong as when he'd first signed up. "The New York Biological Unit, or the NYBU, alerted me the moment they lost track of her. We've been ordered to treat this as a possible threat to the safety of everyday civilians."

"Surely she can't be that dangerous," Barton said dubiously.

"It depends." A man down the other end of the table was slumped in a luxuriously padded swivel chair, and he swung in lazy circuits as he spoke. His hair was carefully mussed, features effortlessly handsome. His face was easily the most famous in the room; none other than Tony Stark, billionaire prodigy, techno-genius and more recently, Iron Man. Hey, if he was going to be a superhero, he was going to do it his way: as publicly as possible (especially as it magnificently pissed off Fury, who had to tail after him picking up the pieces).

"What do you mean?'

Stark sighed a heavy sight of _Why am I always saddled with the morons?_ "You saw Loki. That little stick of destiny he liked waving around the whole time? It did the same sort of thing that she's doing there-" he gestured to the footage on the screen in front of them in emphasis "-only it seems that she does it with her fricking _mind_. And that means she can't be disarmed; makes her possibly even more of a danger."

"Loki did have an entire army," Barton reminded.

"Loki had the _cube_," Stark corrected with the patience of a teacher with a very young child. "And the stick of destiny."

"Yeah, but he still couldn't have-"

"What matters now," Stark cut in smoothly, "is our plan of action." It had been close shave. The Hawk was certainly providing more of a verbal challenge. But hey, he'd saved it rather well. He gave himself a mental gold star for style, and then, after an afterthought, another one for being just so dang good-looking. "Banner?"

Banner looked up, startled. He fiddled nervously with his glasses, cleaning each lens thoughtfully on his shirt before speaking carefully. "I'm not sure what we're dealing with here. But I've heard things about those labs which would give a grown adult nightmares for a month. I think that she has the potential to become a deadly weapon in the wrong hands, or indeed the wrong state of mind." He glanced imploringly at Fury. "Have you got any information about her biology? Statistics, data? These could give us a better idea of what we're up against."

"I'm afraid not." Fury's one good eye glittered coldly as he regarded his team. "The NYBU refused to give us any of their confidential paperwork."

Banner grunted in annoyance and slumped back into his chair, his fingers resuming their ceaseless movement: folding and unfolding his glasses, drumming the table, fiddling with the arms of his seat. There was always something not quite human about his movements, always something that was a little bit more Hulk than the rest of him.

There was a tense silence, before Stark broke in airily. "Okay, so we guess. No biggie, it's practically our M.O." The room was heavy with the possible enormity of the situation, and yet he waded through it with the effort of a car through a day-old puddle. "So, she seemed to control those darts with some sort of energy, right? So what if that changed her brainwave levels, or even created a new one?"

Banner leaned in. His interest had been sparked. "That could logically work," he said. "Humans have different levels of brainwave activity depending on whether they're awake or asleep. It's possible she might have a completely different frequency that could be used telekinetically." He sighed. "Admittedly I've never heard of anyone who's been able to create and change brainwaves artificially."

"Hey, it's the twenty-first century. A lot of things go on that we know nothing about."

"That's true." A blonde man next to Banner chipped in, throwing a dirty look at Fury. He still remembered how the director had been using the cube just months ago to build weapons of mass destruction, right under their noses. He'd even expected them to fetch back the cube so he could continue working on his prototypes, and fed them handfuls of lies until they'd agreed.

"So if we were to find this frequency, and then use it to build a counter wavelength…" Stark was thinking furiously as he talked. "We could render her completely harmless."

It sounded ridiculously easy. Fury cocked an eyebrow. "Will that work?"

Banner shrugged. "It sounds logical, but maybe not. Anyway, it's all we've got to go on."

"Excuse me!" Stark looked genuinely offended that his friend and fellow-genius would doubt his reasoning. "I came up with the idea, so obviously it'll work. Probably," he added briefly, under his breath.

"I assume this girl is, or was, some sort of experiment?" This came from a woman who was sat next to Barton, too close to be just friends. Red hair curled around her cheeks; she was attractive in a cold sort of way. Her face was blank and pale - it could've been a porcelain mask for the amount of emotion moulded into it. Dressed in black, she could've been a spy or an assassin. In fact, she was both. For SHEILD now, although she wasn't picky about who she did the dirty work for as long as she got paid well. Several keen knives were tucked into her boots, and two mini handguns at her waist. No one knew she was armed, and that was the way she liked it. It gave her the advantage, in every situation.

Fury nodded. "From what I was told, they'd managed to recreate the formula used on Captain Rogers here, and then implanted it into a donor embryo to see how it would affect human development."

Captain Rogers, the blonde man who'd remained near-invisible for the entirety of the briefing, sat up in his seat. His ears almost visibly twitched in his eagerness for more information.

"It's been a long-term project: at least five years of planning and then fourteen years whilst they waited for the embryo to develop sufficiently. As you can see, she's highly valuable in their research at the moment," Fury continued. "I was told that the girl had remained in an unstable coma for fourteen years, before waking up, today as it so happens. She went haywire, breaking important equipment and assaulting members of staff, before escaping from the facility altogether by jumping from a four-storey balcony."

He gestured at the screen rolled down behind him upon which a half-played video was frozen. The image was scarred and blurred, with colours badly mish-mashed together in a pixelated mess. The hallmark of a cheap security camera. And yet the scene was still distinguishable. Blurry faced people in white coats were warily ringed around a wild-haired barefooted girl, whilst men in black pointed hefty guns. And yet the air around her was fuzzy with movement, tiny projectiles paused in mid-flight so they streaked out like smears of ink on a white page. But their targets were obvious.

"You've all seen the footage," he said. "You know what you're up against. And I think that you are all up for the task at hand."

"Which is?"

"Bring her in. She poses a threat to the innocent civilians of New York, and it's our job to ensure that she is contained and taken back to NYBU's laboratories where she belongs."

Barton glared at Fury in a barely concealed challenge. "Kids don't belong in laboratories."

"Well it just so happens that that is the only place she belongs," he retorted smoothly. "You have your orders, and you'd do well to stick to them."

Barton sat back in his seat with a defeated sigh. No one challenged Fury and got away with it. But he couldn't help but disgustedly think that what he'd been ordered to do was wrong. He'd been watching that video with the careful precision of someone who'd practiced various martial arts for years, and what he'd seen had been pure instinctive defence. She hadn't the first clue in what she was doing, and therefore that made her less of a threat than Fury was expecting. And Barton knew that overestimating a target was nearly as lethal a mistake as underestimating them instead.

There was a pregnant silence after the outburst where each member seated at the table considered their mission, some doubtfully, and with an arrogant confidence that nothing could possibly go wrong. One of these people was, obviously, Tony Stark.

He coughed. "Piece of cake."

Fury cocked an eyebrow. With his long black coat that flapped like a cape behind him, and his dark foreboding gaze, he could've stepped straight out of the Matrix. "I'm glad you think so."

"Good." Stark swung his feet onto the table, self-consciously running a hand over his several day old stubble. "I'll rig up some wave generators, see if we can get one of the Cubes fit to hold her safely. I'll need her wavelength frequencies though, so I can create an equal opposite frequency. Fury, make some calls, you're good at those."

Fury's mouth twisted into a pained shape, but he didn't comment.

"Big guy, I'll need you." Stark kicked his feet back off the table before springing up and out of the double doors behind him energetically. His empty chair continued to spin weakly before dragging to a reluctant halt.

Banner sighed and got up. If you were to look at him in a coffee shop or just walking down the street, you wouldn't ever have referred to him as 'the big guy'. If anything, he had the scrawny figure of someone who preferred staying in with a laptop rather than playing sport. "I'd better go," he said with a strained sort of smile. "You know what he's like. The idea is sound, in theory anyway. But we need that wavelength frequency." He looked at Fury expectantly, the look of someone waiting for a present.

Fury spoke coldly, almost impatiently. "They've already denied me information, but I'll try again."

"You can be very… persuasive… when you want to be." The ghost of a memory flickered over Banner's face. He remembered when SHIELD had brought him back into the field; all guns and soldiers and threats, and not a single pay cheque in sight. It had almost been funny.

Banner strolled out to catch up with his fellow genius, leaving the others alone with Fury: Captain Rogers, Agent Barton, and the red-haired assassin.

"You leave immediately," Fury said. "I advise that you use a helicopter to remain inconspicuous. Once you get a fix, go in after her. Do not lose her under _any_ circumstance." He eyed each of them with a fierce glare. "Ignore the police; this is way bigger than they can handle. Barton, you stay with the helicopter at all times, and keep an eye on the situation. If things go wrong, give me a call, and I can send extra agents out."

The three nodded, but Rogers looked dubious. "Is it possible that she is in fact _not_ a safety risk?"

"Possibly. But the footage proves otherwise. Either way, getting her under lock and key is best for her as well as everyone else. And logically, she is still the property of the NYBU."

He turned away as his team got up quietly and left, back to the image on the screen behind him. Back to the girl. Even with the quality of a sun-bleached poster, he could make out her face. Pale, with wide, wild eyes. He felt a prickle of doubt. What if she was merely acting in defence? He'd never liked laboratories much as a rule of thumb: they were too clean and bright, hiding a dank, dark underneath where blood was secretly shed, and experiments illegally grown in test tubes. There were too many secrets, even for a man who'd spent most of his life surrounded by suspicion and twisted scandals. No wonder she wanted out. But then he had his orders. Finder her and keep her under close watch. He'd never disobeyed an order in his life, and he wasn't about to start now.

With a sigh, he pushed a button set in the wall, and the screen rose up into the ceiling, once more revealing the splendor of New York in the peak of summer.


	5. Chapter 5

I almost ran as I tried to keep from being trampled to death.

The crowd propelled me along, throngs of people pressing on me from every side until I could barely breathe, and I had to keep at a steady walk-trot in order to avoid being ploughed down by the crush of people around me. It was like being in the centre of a panicked herd of buffalo, or a fast-moving river. The tug and push of closely packed people pulled me along irresistibly, and I was forced to perform a hopping-like dance in order to prevent my bare feet from being trodden on. But I was fast-moving away from the laboratory, from the crooked people inside who were missing some vital spark that made average people tick, like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces absent from the box. Every hurried step put space between me and that nuthouse. But still I could feel a tangible chill on the back of my neck, that kind of cold feeling you get when someone's watching you. I couldn't help but flick nervous glances over my shoulder, shrink into my t-shirt in an attempt to vanish from view, despite the fact that I kept screaming to myself, _Stop fidgeting! You're making yourself noticeable!_

But even then, I couldn't help but feel dizzy with exhilaration. I'd done it! I'd escaped! I was surrounded by the busy, noisy, dirty, smelly reality of the world outside of the clinical whiteness I was so used to, and I loved every second of it. The warm tarmac beneath my feet, the flashing billboards and signs that all begged for my attention, the assault of smells that made my mouth water and nose wrinkle in disgust at the same time. Glittering towers of glass craned their necks towards the sky, and sunlight poured off of their shiny skins onto the disarray of people and cars below so that everything was drenched in a golden glow.

And the noise! The grumble of cars chugging through the chaos and the chatter of voices eager to be heard over everyone else, the background blare of music and the constant thud of feet earnestly pounding the pavement.

The loud honks of impatient cab drivers made me skitter sideways in alarm; however much information had been jammed into my brain whilst I was sleeping, none of it was able to prepare me for this. Sure I could name stuff: car, tarmac, hot dog, glass, sweat, but that didn't mean I understood it. I lacked experience of the real world. It gave me a hollow, sour sort of feeling in the pit of my stomach. All of the people around me, they had no idea how lucky they were. Living for them was so… easy. At that moment, I couldn't have felt more different. Isolated. Distanced from these people by who I was even though we were all crammed together, skin on skin, hot breath on the back of my neck, tough leather shoes threatening to trample my exposed toes.

I kept my head down, and ploughed forwards. The charm of the city somehow seemed a little exclusive, meant for others rather than me, and gave me the uncomfortable sensation that I was trespassing. I squeezed my way through whatever gaps I could find: between shoulders, under arms, between people engaging in a tiresomely long conversation, and being skinny it wasn't too hard.

Eventually I emerged, gasping for air, on a smaller, cleaner street filled with large clusters of shoppers and camera-happy tourists walking by. Shops with posh names and lavish window displays argued with eachother for pride of place - but these were older buildings made of rich red bricks rather than frameworks of steel and glass. I glanced with vague interest through several windows, but all the clothes were rather frilly and extravagant - not to mention overpriced. Sweat began to trickle down my spine. I didn't belong here. In fact, I stood out like a sore thumb. A penniless freak in the favourite haunt of the rich and famous. My bare feet and blood-soaked bandage were already attracting attention, which I didn't want, and one passer by in a flouncy pink dress was already having an urgent word with a nearby policeman.

Hastily, I hurried down the street, keeping my head down and eyes fixed on the tarmac in front of me. Playing at being invisible.

Surprisingly it seemed to work. If you looked like you knew what you were doing and where you were going, no one spared you a second glance. But look lost, or scared, or at all unsure, then suspicion was quickly sown into the crowds.

I followed my feet, and only stopped when the rough tarmac had been swapped for soft, slightly damp grass. Looking up, I saw that I was in a large park, neatly trimmed, and broken by large curved beds of flowers, each bloom an iridescently jeweled tone in the sunlight. Families lounged lazily on the grass, and the air was filled with laughter and the shrieks of joyful children. A fountain gurgled peacefully further on. It was a strange stone creation, out of time compared with the new age skyscrapers and shops that surrounded it, consisting of cherubs and half-naked maidens reclining under the misty spray. Spouts of water cascaded from the cherubs' mouths. People gazed at it as they walked by, a few stopping to appreciatively throw a few coins in (why throw away money?), but the blank eyed statues gave me the creeps. Something about them wasn't as friendly and beautiful as the sculptor had intended; instead they watched me resolutely with dead, stony eyes.

I retreated to one of the many benches scattered over the grass. It was enveloped in a wide umbrella of shade from a broad-boughed tree that towered overhead, and I welcomed the cool relief from the unflinching heat of the sun. I sat in silence, letting my eyes play over the scene before me. None of it seemed real. It was all too bright, too garish, like the painted backdrops used in pantomimes.

Despite myself, my muscles relaxed a little, just a little. I was safe here, surely. Hidden in the throngs of people walking and chatting, in plain sight and yet completely concealed from unfriendly eyes. However I kept a sharp eye on my surroundings - that car hovering by the curb for a few seconds too long, that person who was a little too close for comfort, the sudden crackle of leaves that was too close to be deemed pleasant. Any tiny signs of unrest signaling that I'd been followed. The laboratory wanted me too much to let me slip away that easily, and now they knew I had some sort of power. What had they called it? Telekinesis? Either way, they weren't going to stop hunting until they had me tethered back on that slab. Only this time for good.

Although the day was warm, goosebumps rose on my arms and prickled down my spine.

Nearby, a couple were strolling down the path, stopping in front of the scary fountain. They stopped to point at the various statues, large smiles plastered on their faces, before rummaging in their pockets for coins to throw in.

I couldn't help but watch in growing envy. They were so _happy_. So blissfully ignorant. As I watched, the man - a tall, classically handsome guy with tousled blonde hair and honest features - stooped to plant a kiss on the woman's cheek. She blushed, mouth open in a silly giggle, fingers brushing where he'd just kissed her. Perfectly normal behaviour.

So why was I suddenly on full alert?

Something smelt funny. I knew my senses had been adapted, far better than the senses of an average person, but I just assumed that I would be able to smell things from further away. But what I smelt here was thick and black, a metallic cloud that clogged my nose like back in that room with that nurse, Jen, only less intense. I'd been in danger then. So maybe I was in danger now.

I scanned the park with narrowed eyes, but all I could see were children happily playing beside their parents asleep in the grass, and buzzing gaggles of tourists munching on sandwiches, completely oblivious to the fact that something wasn't quite right.

I brought my attention back to the couple, and finally noticed what was wrong with a rush of panic.

Their eyes.

If they were truly in love, out for a romantic walk in the park, their eyes wouldn't have strayed from one another. But they barely glanced at one another, being too busy gazing around the park with the air of looking for something they'd lost, like a bunch of keys or a five dollar note. And the way in which they held hands, was no longer casual but stiff and awkward as if it was only a pretence. Which I suspected it was.

The man let go of her hand, and pulled a mobile out of his pocket, beginning to speak into it. Against my better judgement, I got up, and with my heart in my mouth crept nearer until I was in earshot, but obscured nicely from sight by a thick-trunked tree. I didn't dare look, in case they saw me, but instead strained my ears until I could hear their muffled voices.

"… we can't see her, are you sure she was here?" There was a long drawn out silence as the man listened to the reply. "Have you still got a fix on her?" Another long pause. "Still here? Okay, we'll have another look." He sighed. "Nick will be mad if we lose her. You'd better be right." A rustle as he pocketed his phone.

I'd heard enough. They were after me. I didn't question the opinion that my head helpfully supplied. It was obvious.

I stood to go. Not back to my seat, it was too risky to stay here whilst they looked for me. No, I'd head across the city, lose myself in the winding mazes of crystalline towers and flats, until I wouldn't even know where I was. Money would be a problem, but I'd figure that out later. Getting away unseen was my priority.

And of course, that was when they saw me.

I was caught in the open. No trees, no bushes, no family I could pretend I belonged to. And I was obviously the one they were after. The bare feet and t-shirt gave it away instantly. And what did I go and do? I froze.

Afterwards, I would curse myself time and time again over the sheer stupidity of just standing there, transfixed, when I could've run. But there was something in that man's serious grey eyes, a grim kind of duty, that anchored me to the spot where I stood, a rabbit caught in a headlight. For a few seconds, we all stood locked in a silent staring match oblivious of the sunny happiness around us.

Tearing myself away took an effort. But I managed it, and abandoning what bullet-riddled cover I had left, I bolted like a startled deer.

I heard shouts, and feet pounding behind me, and I pushed myself forwards, willing myself to go faster. Blood roared through my ears, drowning out the shouts of protest and anger aimed my way as I blindly bolted forwards. My veins thrummed with liquid energy - I'd used enough adrenaline to fell a baby hippo, but it still kept coming - and the unbearable pulsing hotness of it was like a spur in my side. I ran faster than I'd ever run before, my panic choking me like my throat was stuffed with cotton wool. I couldn't go back, wouldn't go back, not ever.

Luckily the park was only half full, and what people there were spread over the grass were too sun-soaked to comprehend what was happening, and merely smiled foolishly as I raced past. Even so, I was forced to swerve and dodge like a professional basketball player in order to avoid slamming into strangers and slowing my escape, at one point leaping a pram that was in my way. Great, more evidence that I was the convict lab experiment they were after. Well done, smart-ass.

Ahead, a ten-foot wrought iron fence race to meet me. Stupidly I'd run the wrong way, so the actual gate was in the opposite direction, but I didn't let that dent my hopes of escape, dampening the slight spark of dismay with the confidence of my own abilities. If I could jump from a several storey balcony with no shoes and still run, which, by the way, was the genuine method I used to escape the laboratory, then this would be child's play.

I bounded forwards, pushing myself forwards with everything I had left, gathering momentum until the final moment when I pushed up into the air with the biggest jump I could muster. My arms reached desperately for the iron railings. I landed heavily, smashing into the hefty metal bars so that all of the air was driven from my lungs, and it felt like I'd cracked several ribs. But I still hung on, despite the sensation that my lungs were being ripped out through my mouth, and hauled myself over the top. My arms easily held the brunt of my weight; it wasn't the last time that I reluctantly thanked the laboratory for the amazing abilities they'd implanted in me, despite the fact that they'd done it for exactly the wrong reason.

Then I jumped. For a single second I was suspended in the air above the hundreds of bobbing heads of average New Yorkers as they followed their own invisible paths. They were like ants. Forever moving and forging ahead to new places and experiences, and thinking big even though they were so small. And I was one of them really, however I looked at it. An it wasn't just that: I _wanted_ to be one of them. I wanted to be in that crowd with everyday worries, and thoughts of what I wanted for lunch, and the film I'd seen several days ago. And yet no one would let me. And that made me angry, so angry that I was surprised that my blood didn't boil away into a steam that floated out through my ears like in cartoons.

And with that thought, I thudded to the ground. Unfortunately, no one had seen me as I'd made my escape; so focused each person was on their own individual task, that my landing was far from smooth. I cannoned into the crowd, landing on several important-looking business men with expensive suits and briefcases before rolling off onto the pavement, half stunned by the sharp cracking impact of bone on bone. Why couldn't I have landed on a soft fat person instead?

The crowd recoiled as if I'd just produced a gun from the waistband of my jeans. People started screaming and stumbling back with their terrified faces turned skywards. There was a mass stampede as people urgently shoved their way away from the site of my crash landing. Someone stamped on my injured hand, and as much as I tried, I couldn't stop a feral yowl from ripping out of my throat as pain ripped through my flesh in a cacophony of flashing red spots before my eyes.

I couldn't black out. Not now. With a huge effort, I stumbled to my feet and shut my eyes against the pixelated blur of colours that throbbed and shivered into one weird shape after another. The two men were still down and were groaning realistically to the few people who had stopped to help them up.

A meaty hand thumped heavily on my shoulder, causing my eyes to snap open. I turned around slowly.

"Excuse me," the policeman said sternly. He was a bulky figure of flab and muscle, developed from regular Friday nights of breaking up brawls between drunken troublemakers, as well as daily stops at Starbucks for a coffee and doughnut during his breaks, and had a broad New York accent to match. He pulled out an official looking ID from his jacket. "I'm arresting you for the public assault of two innocent citizens-"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence as he was too busy yelling curses and cradling his hand, as I twisted my head round and savagely sunk my teeth deep into his wrist. Then I was gone, ducking under his arm and into the safety of the crowd, spitting out the sour taste of his blood as I fought my way through. My confidence was gone, replaced with a dull panic. Where were my pursuers? Was I safe? Unlikely, seeing the fuss the policeman had made. They'd know I'd caused the pile up, no problem. I just had to move fast, take the opportunity to outrun them before finding somewhere secure to lay low for a while.

I didn't dare look back, instead putting my attention into moving forwards. I shouldn't have pulled that stunt. I shouldn't have jumped the gate. Things like that got me unwanted attention. I should've shouted for help, said that my pursuers were kidnappers. Technically, they were.

And suddenly I was back on the street from before. It was just the same as before, half-empty and warmly glowing in the fast approaching afternoon sunshine. The sophisticated red-bricked shops, the four-digit price tags, the groups of women with too much money to spend and tourists with too much time on their hands. I could almost believe that nothing was wrong - the alluring summer sunshine was already addling my brain, damming up my thoughts until they lessened from a fevered torrent to a lazy trickle. But I knew that they couldn't, wouldn't, just drag me off in plain view, not where there were witnesses. I needed to stay in busy places: crowded squares, bustling pavements, shops humming with eager shoppers dragging along their bored children. Play cat and mouse where I was the only mouse in a crowd of rats.

A flicker in the corner of my eye, a painful prickle on the back of my neck as each hair screamed a warning. I jerked round suddenly, and there he was, just standing there, watching me.

He was no longer smiling. His face could've been moulded from stone as he strode towards me unwaveringly. I backed up desperately. He wasn't stopping despite the amount of people crammed around us, and kept his cold grey eyes glued on me as he pushed his way forwards.

How he'd managed to keep up with me was unimaginable, but I knew with a cold swoop of dread that he'd easily beat me in a fight. His toned muscles were visible even under his shirt, and his posture spoke of months and months of training in combat. Whereas, I hadn't the first clue in defence, let alone attack. Sure, I was probably as strong as him, possibly even more so, but who wasn't to say that he had a gun tucked into his jeans, or a knife in his pocket? He'd been expecting me, and that gave me the distinct disadvantage.

I couldn't have been more helpless. I was wearing a t-shirt that screamed _I am here!_ to everyone within a half-mile radius, had a pursuer on my tail that however hard I tried I could not get rid of, and even worse my powers were refusing to work. My hand still throbbed painfully, not to mention the numerous aches and pains hidden in my joints, but when I reached out for that warm rush of energy, it simply wasn't there. Typical for my telekinesis to walk out on me when I most needed it.

He was gaining on me; people briskly stepped out of his way once they saw his stormy expression. I picked up the pace. The huddle of bodies on every side was suffocating me - the amount of people had increased since I was last here. I wanted open space, an endless road where I could stretch out my legs and run into the unknown, rather than shuffling through what spaces I could find as quickly as the crowd would let me. Which wasn't very fast at all.

Maybe I should just give up. I nearly gagged in revulsion at this idea, but it sat firmly lodged in my head with a sinister calm. It would be easier. Just hand myself in. No more running or fighting or waves of pure fear that threatened to drag me under into its black, suffocating depths. Only dull resignation of my eventual fate, the one I tried to outrun but that would always be waiting for me.

I stopped, slowly turning around. He was an arm's length away. He could easily grab me, perhaps hold a gun to my chest or a knife to my throat, and drag me away. But he just stood watching me. I tensed automatically, ready to jump back if he came any closer. The idea of surrendering seemed ridiculous now he was so close. I already loved the city, loved the smells and lights and mazes of people and the soaring blue sky overhead that beckoned to every human being on the planet. Why should I be imprisoned inside a tiny white room for the rest of my life when all of _this_ was here, ready for the taking?

"We don't want to hurt you," the man said carefully.

"Well then don't," I retorted. "I don't want to hurt anyone either, so I advise you stay back."

"Well then don't," I retorted. "I don't want to hurt anyone either, so I advise you stay back."

"You need to come with us."

I visibly bristled. "I don't need to go with anyone."

His jaw set and he took a step forwards, and I instantly jolted back as if stung with an electric shock. "I said stay back," I said, my voice scraping tones of hysteria.

His face softened a little. Was that pity I could see in his eyes? I didn't want pity, but it was better than being regarded as nothing more than a savage animal. "I've got to bring you in," he said, almost apologetically. I didn't believe his act for a second.

"Why?" I spat.

"I had orders."

"From whom?"

"You'll soon find out."

"No I won't."

His face was sad, almost guilty. "I'm sorry, but you will."

"No way." Then something he'd said crossed my mind, something that hadn't sounded quite right. "Wait, what do you mean, _we_ don't want to hurt you?"

Too late I realised.

Flicking round, I saw the woman from the park standing behind me, so close that I could almost smell her breath. Her hair was a blinding smudge of red across her face, and her lips were pressed into a humourless smile.

"You!" I sprang back into the crowd, throwing myself as far as possible away from my two assailants.

"Hey wait!" the man shouted, breaking into a run after me, but that wasn't going to happen. I was too fast, and people had resumed their paths invisibly carved into the pavement, and were no longer quite so willing to give way. I had the advantage: being slim and light on my feet, I could wriggle through gaps like a rat through a sewer, whereas my captors would be left clumsily fighting their way forwards.

It was when the world tilted to one side that I realised something was wrong. My limbs had become heavy and sluggish like they were slabs of cold steel rather than flesh and bone, and I had to fight to stay upright. Every step was a struggle to scale the pavement that rose and fell unnervingly, and it didn't help that my stomach was still weak after being near inactive for years; the sour taste of bile quickly swept over my tongue and evil green liquid splattered on the concrete. It took me a few numb seconds to work out that I'd just thrown up.

The buildings around me swayed dangerously, like trees in a hurricane, and I found myself swaying unsteadily with them, held up only by the steady flow of people around me. Not just physically but mentally; my thoughts, my memories, plans of escape, they wheeled around and around in a confused mess like clothes in a washing machine until my skull ached with the effort of pulling a thought out from the rest and attempting to decipher its meaning.

I dully glanced over my shoulder for signs of pursuit, any chance that I might have lost my pursuers. Maybe now I would get some peace - I had a desperate urge to curl up on the sidewalk and drift into sleep, or at least a light doze until I was forced to find somewhere to hide. As I turned something glinted on the edge of my vision, something that shone with a familiar light, that I'd seen before. I sifted through my churning thoughts without much luck; it was like when you look for a sock to complete a pair and all you find are socks of the wrong colour or pattern.

It was with vacant surprise that I suddenly identified the shiny thing as a needle, sticking out of my shoulder. What was even more surprising that no one else had noticed either. How unobservant normal people were.

I clumsily pawed at my shoulder in an attempt to pull the deadly barb from my skin, but to no avail. I could feel the cold liquid diffusing into my blood and radiating a cold chill through my body. I shuddered uncontrollably, as if from cold. My heart fluttered with frenzied abandon like a butterfly against a window, and I seemed to quiver with pent up energy that I longed to let loose in a bounding run. Instead a spasm ran the length of my spine, and my legs crumpled under my weight like soggy paper.

The pavement reared up to meet me, but before I could slam into the ground with juddering force, strong arms caught me and lowered me down gently. My neck was locked in place with iron bands moulded from the drug that poisoned my blood, and I had no choice but to stare helplessly up above at the piercing blue sky and the tips of buildings that rose to meet it. Shoppers gathered on the edge of my vision, clearly curious as to why a girl had suddenly collapsed in the middle of the street. I wanted to shout in frustration, urge them to help me, but my voice was frozen solid within my throat. I almost choked on the words I wanted to scream at the stupid people stood around idly like grazing sheep.

The man leaned over me, his eyes searching mine. I held his gaze steadily. "You shouldn't have run," he said.

"Why… why are you doing this?" Through sheer willpower I managed to gasp out the words. Everything was getting darker, dimmer. The sky was a pale washed out ghost of its former self. I didn't have long before I went under.

But that was their plan. Distract me, and then knock me out with some sort of poison. That way they could take me back to my white room without any resistance. I was so, so, stupid, to fall for such a simple plan. I'd seen both of them in the park, I'd known I'd had to outrun two of them. And yet I hadn't.

His brow was furrowed with some undistinguishable emotion, but his eyes were brimming over with guilt. He was suddenly reluctant to meet my gaze, instead gazing out towards the skyline. "I had my orders," he muttered.

"She's nearly out," the woman said. I couldn't see her, but I could tell she was crouched by my head. Her voice was cold, emotionless. Maybe she'd done this sort of thing before.

"She's injured." The man reached out for my injured hand, but with a sudden surge of strength I pulled it away, shrinking from his touch.

"Don't touch me," I whispered, trying to inject as much venom into each word as I possibly could. It came out as more of a pathetic whimper.

My eyes drifted shut. I couldn't fight it any longer, it was as pointless as a tiny fish trying to swim against the current. My body was so tired, so heavy, even thinking took everything I had left. The cool blackness of unconsciousness beckoned invitingly, and just as I let its cold waters wash over me, I swore the man whispered something to me as he watched me flicker out like a dying candle.

"I'm sorry."


	6. Chapter 6

**This one's less action and more dialogue, but it does involve a lot of Tony, Steve and Fury. Enjoy, and please review!**

In my first day, I'd already concluded that waking up hurt like hell. The first time had felt like drowning, struggling to breathe through the crushing weight of sleep that attempted to hold me down. But it had been more of a deep rooted ache in my skull. This time round, everything was ferociously sore. I had no idea what had been in that syringe, but it sure kicked a punch.

I groaned loudly as I uncurled myself. My arms and legs screamed vehemently at the sudden movement, and for a moment my skin was consumed in a raging blaze of pins and needles.

"Morning sleepy head." An amused voice came from over my shoulder.

I twisted round sharply as my brain snapped into defence mode, but then doubled up in agony as my bones were racked with burning cramps. A guttural shriek escaped my lips much to my embarrassment. I hated being weak. Being vulnerable. _Pull yourself together!_ I yelled at myself, although my body refused to cooperate, huddling in a miserable ball as I fought to gain control.

"Woah, easy." The voice was less amused, and more concerned. I crawled to my knees with my jaw set in determination, and caught my first glimpse of my captor.

A man stood watching me amongst a web of console screens and rows of buttons and dials. A thin smile played over his face as I shot death glares at him; I wasn't sure whether he was entertained, really conceited at having finally brought me in, or just pure evil. In this case, I estimated all three. Other than that, I guessed he was good-looking, at least in a carefully preened sort of way. Clever brown eyes danced from one screen to the next.

"Wow, your brainwave patterns are going bonkers over here. Would you care to explain?"

I shook my head, biting my tongue in order to stifle the whimpers. Either way, I had no idea. Probably some strange side effect of being pumped full of weird chemicals at birth.

The man tutted. "Typical. We get the only evil mutant who refuses to talk. I have no idea what Fury was talking about," he added whilst drumming his fingers over the screen in a complicated rhythm. "You're nothing like Loki."

Loki? Bewildered, I turned away, instead focusing my attention on my surroundings. Maybe I'd find a weak point, some means of escape or at least relief from the unsettling chatter of the guy just feet away.

My first thought: this wasn't the laboratory. I was lying in the centre of a massive room the size of a tennis court paved with polished metal panels up the walls and across the ceiling. And everywhere I looked were humming monitors and banks of switches, fantastic contraptions that clicked and droned to one another, and lights that glowed alarming colours. Wires trailed across the floor in thick bundles, like the roots of trees, and stacks of papers and boxes were crammed into every available space. White light blazed from light strips along the ceiling and soaked into the metal panels around it until each sleek surface was burnished with a harsh silvery glow.

It felt like a laboratory; it had the same atmosphere of cold ambition. The clinical lights, the constant bleep of important equipment, the unwavering thrum of purpose that pervaded the air. But yet the whole place was chaos itself. Pieces of circuit board and half-constructed contraptions lay crumpled in the corners where they'd last been thrown in a fit of anger. Tottering towers of papers and books had been dumped unceremoniously on any table strong enough to bear them without collapsing in a fit of exhaustion. Nearby, a laptop squealed frantically for rescue from under a half-eaten sandwich.

No, this was somewhere different. The lab had been all blank white walls and hidden lights and trays of implements that looked like mediaeval torture devices. This place seemed more alive somehow, more lived in.

And I was right in the middle of it, within a large bare square of space. No walls, no bars, nothing. Looking down at my wrists, I was surprised to see that I hadn't even been cuffed, and that someone had wrapped a clean white bandage around my palm and wrist that fitted snugly like a glove. I was free to escape. All that stood between me was a maze of electronics and one man who I could probably take down with one hand behind my back, once my body started cooperating again.

I started to crawl. Cautiously, so as not to attract attention, inching forwards as steadily as I could manage, blatantly wincing with the throb of pain that accompanied every movement. If he thought I was just going to sit around affably all day, then he seriously needed to see a doctor. The man in question was staring at an array of screens with intent interest whilst chewing on what looked suspiciously like dried fruit. Yuck. But he was otherwise occupied. Luck was once more on my side, and I picked up the pace. I was only feet away from the edge of a wire-infested safe haven, perfect cover where I could scrape together a few precious moments to locate the door and hastily figure out an escape route.

But that dream quickly evaporated when I slammed into something.

I pulled back, stunned. But there was nothing there. Was there? Gingerly I stretched out my injured hand, reaching out, until it struck something. Something smooth and cold beneath my palm, even through the bandage.

Glass.

I stared in disbelief. I was in a glass box. And now I was looking for it, I could see it: a translucent wall between me and my freedom, shimmering slightly in the white light. I couldn't believe I'd missed it. I gazed at the transparent barrier with a sinking heart, and the glass, in a perverse show of spite, threw my gaze back at me in a misty reflection. Pale, haunted eyes from under an unkempt mess of black hair, a delicate ghost of myself printed onto glass. For a moment I almost felt embarrassed. Did I really look that terrible? No wonder I'd gotten all those looks - I must've stood out like a sore thumb from the hundreds of carefully preened New Yorkers walking the streets. But then despair took over once more and I let my face lean against the ice-cool glass, fingers gently brushing the surface as if by some miracle I could find a way out. Every corner, every edge was seamlessly moulded together. There were no gaps, no edges, nothing, not even a door. I was in a giant glass bubble, parted from the rest of the world by an inch or two of compacted sand. Though loathe I was to admit it, it was an impressive cage. Unconsciously I wondered how much air I had left.

"That glass is four inches thick." The man was watching me carefully with amusement, a casually confident expression daubed across his face. He clearly thought he had the upper hand. And he did, at least for now. "You won't get through that in a hurry. Especially with these babies running." He patted a computer fondly.

My look of complete bewilderment must have registered, as he was good enough to explain. "These computers are hooked up to the walls of your cell, and are generating a wavelength frequency identical to the one your brain is producing now, with the effect of cancelling it out. Rendering you completely powerless." He winked. "We know that little magic trick of yours."

My telekinesis? He knew? How could they know? The only trick I'd had up my sleeve and he'd stolen it when I wasn't looking. Any chance of escape was dashed into a thousand little pieces that I didn't have the hope or patience to scoop up and painstakingly glue back together. Maybe he was bluffing. But even then I knew deep down this was just my brain's frantic attempt at optimism. My powers worked instinctively when I was in pain, and I hurt right now, deep in my stomach with the knowledge that I was a labrat back in its cage. And yet nothing was happening. The hot energy that once burned through my veins had been drained away, leaving me unbearably empty.

I flopped back against the glass and let my eyelids flutter shut. I was in no mood to resist whatever was in store for me. Maybe it was better to get it all over and done with. The cold glass was good on my skin, helping to clear my head of the stifling panic that wrapped round my brain and wouldn't let go, like a toddler clinging to a teddy bear, instead replacing it with a grim sense of calm. _It could be worse_, I tried to point out. _I could be tied down, or unconscious on an operating table. I could be back at the lab right now. I could even be dead. Technically, this is a huge improvement. _Although my reasoning didn't stop me from hating every inch of the glass that restrained me.

Outside of my cube, a door swung open. A man strode through like he was in a hurry. Blonde hair. Serious grey eyes. Thick muscular arms. It was him, the one from the park and the street, with that woman and that _stupid_ syringe. I glared daggers at his back, but they pinged harmlessly of the glass (great, even my metaphorical daggers couldn't penetrate its surface). What a treacherous bastard. Although, he couldn't be treacherous since he was never on my side in the first place… He was still a bastard though. Period.

"Hey Tony," said the bastard.

"Alright Superman?" greeted the other man, Tony. He didn't look up from the screens, just popped a dried apricot into his mouth and waved his hand vaguely in a gesture that said _Get on with it but don't expect me to give you my full attention_.

"I just came to see how she's doing. Director Fury's orders."

"Ah, Nick Fury. Fury by name, Fury by nature." Tony smirked. "She's awake, and currently sulking in the corner of one of my frankly awesome containment units." He reached out to slap a corner proudly. "Handmade you know. Took me three months just to get the plans approved."

Blondie sighed. "Can you save the _I'm-a-genius_ speech for later?"

Tony raised an eyebrow, looking up from a screen. "_Save it for later?_ What am I, a fridge? My speeches are best served fresh, as you well know." He went back to his computer, fingers flying furiously over the keyboard in a dance of coding and calculations. "These brainwave patterns are seriously rocking my mind," he called. "Want to take a look?"

Blondie wasn't listening to Tony's light-hearted banter, instead fixing me with a cautious gaze. "How are you feeling?"

I snorted. Stupid question. " Very well, thank you," I said mockingly. The sarcasm that rolled off my tongue had a satisfying ring to it, and matched the don't-care attitude I was trying on for size, but not enjoying. It was several sizes too big, and itched ceaselessly at the neckline. I longed to abandon it, but kept my arms folded aggressively, and a sneer plastered across my face. Hostility and rock-hard confidence were the only defenses I had left.

Blondie raised an eyebrow like I'd just done something really stupid, although his eyes seemed sad. "I did say sorry."

"That doesn't change anything."

"I had my orders."

"From who?" I finally spat, so tired of being kept in the dark, so tired of being as ignorant as a five-year-old. "Who are you? Who do you work for?" I swallowed, pushing fear into my gut. "What do you want with me?"

Tony smirked through a mouthful of dried blueberries. "Maybe I was wrong. She's got quite a tongue. You really struck a nerve Captain."

"Captain?" I sneered. What a stupid name. Or maybe it was a rank. To be honest, I didn't give a flying monkey. Or even two flying monkeys.

I pushed myself onto my feet despite the way the ground lurched sickeningly to one side beneath me and my bones cracked with fresh cramp. I gritted my teeth through a wave of nausea. If I had my powers, I would've been out of here in a heartbeat. Smash the glass, knock out the two idiots standing in front of me, and then freedom would be mine. And yet the very air held me back, stripped me of what made me special and rendered me powerless. Once again I was imprisoned by science.

I scowled at the steady-faced man in front of me with open contempt. He was the reason I was here, him and that woman. It was _their_ fault. Anger seethed in my stomach as I examined his face. Only several inches of glass restrained me from tackling him to the floor - I wanted _revenge_, almost as much as my own freedom. I had a score to settle with the both of them, and on my honour they would be sorry when I finally got loose.

His gaze held mine with an unwavering intensity. In those shadowy grey eyes I caught a glimpse of some undistinguishable emotion lurking deep below the surface, like the silhouette of a fish just below the wrinkled surface of a lake, a disguised feeling that try as I might, I just couldn't place.

"Well?" I demanded.

He opened his mouth, about to speak, when the door once more swung open, wild momentum sending it crashing into the wall. A tall black man stormed in, bringing a thundercloud in his wake that quickly spread to envelop the whole room in its constricting grasp. He was clad in an expensive suit underneath a black coat that flapped at his ankles like a comedy villain's cape. An eyepatch covered one eye, but the other glittered with a vivid intensity that made me flinch.

"Nick Fury, director of SHIELD," Tony muttered helpfully. He proffered his bag of dried fruit to the newcomer. "Blueberry?"

The man ignored him, and Tony retreated back to familiar territory within his nest of whirring computers and gadgets.

"SHIELD…" I tried out the alien word. The metallic smell was back, a strangely familiar scent that lingered in every breath I took.

"That's right," Nick Fury snapped. He sounded as aggressive as he looked. Reminded of Doctor Winter from the lab, I shrank back from the glass.

"Nick, she's just a kid," Blondie implored. I narrowed my eyes. What was he up to? I had no idea why he was suddenly defending me. Maybe he was feeling sorry for me? Maybe his conscience had finally coughed back into life like an ancient car, and decided that kidnapping children wasn't a suitable pastime for anyone to have.

"Thank you Captain Rogers, you're dismissed."

"But Sir-"

"That's an order, Captain."

Captain Rogers stiffened. His eyes frosted over until they were suddenly as cold as my prison walls. "Yes sir," he intoned flatly before leaving the room briskly. Even through the glass, I could smell the trail of vent-up anger he left behind him.

Fury turned back to me, eyes pinning me still with the precision of a surgeon. "Do you have a name?"

I decided to drop my act a little and answer honestly. I had an uncomfortable feeling that this guy would see through any lie or story I tried to construct. Anyway, what was the point of resisting any longer? Things couldn't get any worse. Well, technically they could, but I was trying to ignore that.

"Sort of," I said.

Fury waited impatiently.

I took a shaky breath. "Subject 9."

His face softened a little, just a fraction. Maybe he was beginning to see a scared, confused teenager rather than the patchwork creation he'd been expecting.

"What sort of name is that?" Tony said. His humour was torn, and under the frayed edge, his voice was steely.

"You're going to send me back,aren't you?" Panic rose in my throat, threatening to drag me under.

"That's the idea, yes," Fury said heavily.

I let out a thick, shaky sigh, almost of relief. At least I now had some sort of idea as to what they had planned for me. All I had to do now, was come up with a plan. A really good plan.

"I honestly think you're making a bad choice," Tony said quietly. "I've heard horror stories about that place." "It's not my call."

"It's not my call."

"But it could be, couldn't it?" Tony's laid back attitude had been stripped away, and instead he bristled with invisible electricity. "Since when did we follow average procedures, or do paperwork anyway? In fact, I distinctly recall you throwing that health and safety manual off the top of Stark Tower last month." He paused, thinking. "Yeah, actually, maybe that was me. Sounds like me. But you didn't replace it!"

"I don't have any choice in the matter," Fury protested.

Tony snorted. "Don't treat me like an idiot Fury. SHIELD is far superior to the NYBU. If we were the teenager just out of college with the full time job, they'd still be the snotty little ten year old running the paper round."

"I can't go against the Council."

"Oh, so the Council are involved? I seem to remember that last time they deemed to get involved, they made a tremendous mess that almost killed me!"

"Alright women, just cool it will you!" Both men jolted in surprise as they heard my voice cut through their own. "Maybe," I continued, "you might be so kind as to tell me why it's so desperately important for me to go back."

"You're dangerous," Fury said shortly.

"Yeah, but I'm more dangerous when people are treating me like dirt," I muttered through gritted teeth. "Why don't you just kill me if I'm such a threat?"

"The NYBU want you back in one piece." Something like regret clouded Fury's one good eye. "You're a hugely expensive, and successful, fourteen year project. As you can imagine they're not best pleased about losing you."

"Well you have no idea how chuffed I was to be lost of _them_," I laughed bitterly. "Why don't I get a say in where I go? Why can't I be left alone?" I was whining like a child now, but I didn't care - my childhood had been ripped away from me, and I had catching up to do.

"It's what's safest for the public. For everyone." Fury's tone was clear; the conversation was over. "You'll be sent back in a week's time, once the NYBU fix up their security ready for your return. For now, you'll be kept here."

"I still don't agree with this," Tony said.

"I don't give a damn," Fury snarled. "And if I find that you've meddled at all in this without my permission, I will have you suspended from service permanently."

"I'd like to see you try." Tony's eyes glittered with carefully controlled anger. "And also, I'd like to remind you that this is my tower, and within it I'll do whatever I want, _Nick_."

At that moment, I was extremely glad of the thick wall of glass between him and me.

Fury seemed to search for something to say, but finding nothing, swept from the room histrionically.

The room was eerily quiet for a moment. With Fury gone, the tension fell from my shoulders like an unwanted shawl, and the heavy fear that had crushed me earlier melted into a giant puddle at my feet.

"Well…" I struggled for words to fill the silence. "That was fun."

"Really?" Tony watched me expectantly, seemingly eager for a witty reply.

"It's not often the monkey bites the organ grinder."

"And what makes you think I'm the monkey?" Tony demanded.

I pretended to consider. "You'd probably look better in the hat," I said innocently.

His look of affront blurred slightly, as if he were trying to look offended as possible but couldn't help feeling smug at the thought that he could carry off hats. Despite my situation, I couldn't suppress a smile, a really big explosive one. Possibly even my first smile. That was a strange thought, especially when the action seemed to come so naturally and felt so good, like sunlight falling on my face.

He caught me grinning quietly to myself. "Oh, hello! So you can smile! I couldn't tell before with the perpetual scowls and glaring. If looks could kill…" He shuddered dramatically.

Okay. This was weird. Was he actually talking to me like a genuine human being? "Why were you standing up for me?" I asked slowly, unwilling to sever the cobweb-delicate alliance that had seemed to formed between us. "I thought your orders were to bring me in."

"They were. And I have." He popped another berry into his mouth, and ran a hand through his hair. "But there was nothing about sending you back to that booby-hatch." He continued to talk as he scrolled through reams of data. Who said men couldn't multi-task? "Fury's not always right though. I was expecting a second Loki, if a little younger. Not a kid." He grinned slyly. "And if I'm honest, following orders has never really been my style."

"You followed them to begin with."

"Meh. Sometimes it's easier. And sometimes it saves lives. It would've been a whole different story if you'd turned out to be some crazed psychopath."

I nodded, sinking back into a silence as I mulled over my options. For starters, I now had a sort-of friend. A friend who wasn't supposed to help me in any way possible, but still a friend. Who had a distinct lack of respect for rules, which could prove helpful.

Second point: I had time. A week to come up with a foolproof plan, a guaranteed 'get out of jail free' card that I could play at any second. And thanks to my heightened IQ, maybe that wouldn't be as tricky as it initially sounded.

Okay, so bad points. I was locked in an impenetrable prison. I had made enemies with possibly the scariest man I'd ever met. I had a drilling headache going right through my brain that made it kind of hard to think straight. And I now couldn't use my powers, possibly the only trick I had up my sleeve to start with.

Yeah, basically things weren't playing my way. I growled in frustration as I ran restless hands through my hair. Surely there was something I could do, something I could say that would get me out of here.

And finally, that's when things started happening.


	7. Chapter 7

A tremor ran down my spine, a tiny shiver as if I were cold. For a moment, I thought it was just me. Just another symptom of the drug that sank poisonous claws into my flesh. But then another shudder ripped through me, and this time Tony looked up.

"What's going on?" he demanded, shooting me a suspicious glance.

"Hey, it's not me," I snarled.

Another tremor, only this time a lot stronger. I could feel it through the walls of my prison, the glass vibrating violently against my hands. The whole building was shaking. Equipment rattled violently, rocking from side to side until they began to throw themselves off tables to smash on the floor. Teetering piles of paperwork collapsed in flurries of white, so that it was almost like we were caught in the midst of a blizzard.

"Your tech seems a tad suicidal," I commented shakily. I was already on my feet, fighting to keep my balance on the legs of a newborn lamb, and the rapidly trembling floor. The familiar rush of adrenaline pounded through me in time with my fluttering heartbeat.

"Haha, hilarious." He shook glass off his shoes, and examined a newly cracked circuit board before tossing it away in disgust. "Some of this stuff took ages to make," he whined.

"Well what is this? Some sort of earthquake?"

He was about to reply, when a bone-juddering roar echoed faintly from beneath us. The sound itself seemed to make the room tremble, reverberating through floors of steel and wood, and then right through my own body, sending goose-pimples fleeing across my arms and legs.

It was a savagely raw sound, a cry so ancient that it thrilled through me, awaking a primal part of me hardwired to run from hungry predators. Every fibre of my being ached to bolt, and for a few seconds I stood stock still, quivering with pent up fear, my heart pulsing like a frightened rabbit's, before I finally gave into my instincts and leapt forwards as fast fast as I could, almost tripping in my terror. I slammed into my cell wall, once, twice, desperately scrabbling at the walls with my fingers, searching for a way out.

Tony's face had drained of all colour, and he was a sickly shade of white. He gazed at the door in barely concealed horror. "Banner…" he whispered.

"What's Banner?" I shouted, drumming at the glass with nervous energy. "What's going on? Tell me!"

The door flew open, and Rogers staggered in, breathing hard. His blonde hair was dark with sweat and hung in strands over eyes brimming with fear. I instantly saw how bad the situation was if it could ruffle a man who a few minutes ago had been cooler than an ice cube. Blood oozed from a deep cut across his cheekbone, and for some strange reason, a large, curved shield bearing the stars and stripes was slung over his forearm.

"It's Doctor Banner," he panted. "He lost it down in the training room."

"Where's Romanoff and Legolas?"

Rogers' mouth quirked a little. "They're holding him off whilst the building is evacuated."

Tony only froze for a millisecond, mind leaping from possibility to possibility until he found one strong enough to bear his weight. "Okay. Let's move."

He pushed a set of buttons in rapid succession, too fast for me to see, and suddenly my cage began to groan as one entire wall lifted up and slid smoothly into the ceiling, eventually settling with a contented _click_.

I was free.

I limped forwards eagerly, and yet with a reasonable measure of caution. Before, at least I had been safe, untouchable in my glass box. But now I was open to attack on all sides, like a snail prised from its shell. I had become the soft squishy thing that birds gorged themselves on.

As I stepped out into Tony's catacomb of computers and boards of switches and buttons, a curious feeling crashed over me, so strong that I had to clutch at a nearby table for support. It was almost like strength was being poured back into me in an electrical surged that crackled through me in a near-tangible force. All of my aches and pains vanished, as easily as wiping an incorrect equation off a whiteboard.

I felt better - in fact I felt great. More than great, really. Strong. More powerful and in control.

Something Tony had said earlier rang in my ears: "These computers are hooked up to the walls of your cell, and are generating a wavelength frequency identical to the one your brain is producing now, with the effect of cancelling it out. Rendering you completely powerless."

So now I was free, my telekinesis must be working! I resisted the urge to punch the air, now that I had an advantage on everyone else in the room.

The two men regarded me warily as I stepped forwards, as one might watch an unexploded grenade. Rogers adjusted his grip on his shield nervously. But yet there was something else in their eyes, a sort of blend between curiosity and awe. I shrugged. Let them stare. I was stronger than they possibly knew; I had the upper hand as well as the advantage of surprise. I wasn't about to squander my chance of escape.

Another roar shuddered beneath our feet, and it seemed to kick-start the others into action.

"Captain, could you possibly manage to escort our friend here out of the building without getting into too much trouble?" Tony said in mock seriousness.

"Don't patronise me Stark," Rogers said coldly.

"Alright, cool it granddad," Tony smirked. "I'll go suit up and have a word with Banner. See if I can calm him down."

"Good luck with that," Rogers muttered.

A suit? I highly doubted a suit was going to help Tony out. He was a skinny slight of a man, who probably spent the day watching funny videos online, or hacking into military databases (more likely the latter). I was sure I could take him down easily - he had absolutely no chance with what was lurking a few floors down, even if he took the time to change into a tux and bow tie.

We filed out: Tony first, then me, then Rogers. Tony darted through a door to the left, no doubt to get his suit (moron), whilst Rogers directed me forwards and down the stairs. He put out a hand to gently grasp my shoulder and steer me int he right direction, but I bared my teeth in a clear warning: back off. He withdrew his hand hurriedly, though a ghost of amusement flickered across his face.

We traipsed silently down flights of stairs, and down endless corridors with polished wooden floors, and smooth stone walls, sometimes giving way to large, panels of some sort of metal with a smoke-like sheen. I made sure to limp realistically, keeping up the pretence of being weak and injured in the hopes that Rogers might let his guard down somewhat. And all the while my eyes drank in my surroundings, flitting from wall to wall, through the occasional open doorway into pristine offices and bedrooms, even slyly over my shoulder to see what Rogers was up to.

The whole place was empty - clearly the evacuation had been a success.

The roars were louder now, and the entire building shivered violently around us. I shivered too, but more from fear than from anything else. I'd already began to gain that selfish every-man-for-himself instinct, one that most people secretly harboured with a sense of shame; it took a surprising amount of effort to rein myself in and not dash off and leave Rogers to fend for himself.

The roars and shudders subsided, much to my relief, and we were left navigating the narrow hallways in a long, drawn out silence. How big was this building?

"Something's not right," Rogers muttered tensely under his breath. And loathe I was to admit it, he was right. That… thing had stopped bellowing, and instead we heard deep breathing, and a snorting noise similar to a rooting warthog. If anything, the steady scraping coming from beneath our feet was a lot more sinister.

What?

Scraping? Why would we hear scraping?

Then my brain pieced it together and I jolted backwards, right into Rogers who raised his shield defensively. The idiot thought I was attacking him.

"Ow, off, get off!" I yanked at his arm, pulling him back the way we'd come.

"What are you doing?" he protested loudly.

"Shush! I'm trying to help you!" I lowered my voice to a dramatic whisper. "It's coming through the floor!"

By the time he'd grasped the meaning of my words, it was too late.

The floor erupted into a hurricane of flying shards of broken wood. Rogers shoved me face down on the floor and crouched next to me, shield thrown over both of our bodies to deflect the deadly missiles. There was a horrific crunching sound as heavy oak planks were snapped in two and sent flying through the air.

The last piece of wood settled with an echoing screech as it carved a jagged gash into the wall behind us.

I peered out cautiously at the carnage. A huge hole had been ripped through the floor so that the lower floors could be seen through the layers of ripped wires and torn sheets of insulation.

Rogers uncurled, and warily lowered his shield. To my amazement, underneath the slightly battered paintwork, the metal was flawless. Not a single scratch or dent. Was that even possible?

We sat for a moment in stunned silence, chunks of wood scattered around us. Then I cleared my throat. "Um, thanks. For, you know, shielding me." I flushed hot with embarrassment. "I'd probably be dead otherwise, so… thanks." The words were thick and stuttering, but I manages to spit the words of gratitude out.

The truth was thought that I was genuinely grateful towards him - he spared my life despite the fact that I had been, frankly, a bit of a whiny brat from start to finish. Just the thought of how I'd spoken to him previously made me want to die with shame, even though I was too proud to give him a genuine thank you, let alone an apology.

Even so, he still looked pleasantly surprised, if a little shocked.

"This doesn't make us friends," I added hastily. "I still hate you."

"Glad to hear it," he joked, seeming relieved that our relationship was back to its familiar state of mutual distrust.

"What even is Banner?" I asked.

"Not what, who." He mopped his forehead with a sleeve. "He's our top scientist. A brilliant mind, but a little short tempered."

"I'll say."

"He had an accident concerning some sort of radiation. It means that whenever he gets angry, he turns into a mindless green rage monster that we call the Hulk." He shivered. "I've only ever seen the Hulk once, when we were defending New York. He's a force to be reckoned with…"

So it seemed I wasn't the only freakish mutant around here. "Defending New York?"

"Alien invasion. Kind of a long story best left for later." His eyes were glued to the ragged hole in the floor, and the giant green arm that had just emerged from it.

Huge fingers crunched into the wood as easily as I might scrunch up a sheet of paper. Then another arm emerged, thick and bulging with veins and brutish muscle under the green-stained skin.

I watched in horrified fascination as the monster dragged itself up from the floor below.

He was huge, his head scraping the ceiling even when he hunched over, and his shoulders only just fitting the cramped corridor. Every inch of him was sinew and muscle, right from his thick neck down to his bulging legs with bare dirty feet the length of my arm. His head, however, was surprisingly small, with clumsy features that might've been moulded by a seriously drunk sculptor, and a thin thatch of black hair. White teeth were bared in a savage grin, and his eyes, those deep black eyes with the crazy ring of white made me tremble with ice-cold dread. Those rage-filled eyes held me helplessly, and distantly I wondered why I wasn't dead already.

He opened his maw, and an awful howl poured out, a liquid crash of frothing anger that sucked me under and pummeled every sense into submission. I could barely breathe; the terror pulsing through me made my heart judder to a stop for a second, and then kick back to life in a frenzied tattoo against my ribcage.

I opened my mouth, expecting a girly scream, or perhaps a few choice curses to come rushing out. But all I could manage was a strangled squeak.

He regarded me with dark, menacing eyes, and lumbered forwards a step. Curled fists hung at his side, each one maybe twice the size of my own head. I didn't think that the approach was merely a challenge, that I should've stood my ground like a terrier playing at being a bulldog.

But instead I did what most scared teenagers would've done.

I ran.

I'd never truly appreciated my speed until that moment. Every genetically tweaked bound put perhaps an extra metre and a half between me and that creature. I guessed I felt bad about leaving Rogers - who wouldn't? - with only that shield that probably wouldn't do much against a mammoth sized package of muscle and power. But I had a feeling that he'd be alright, as the monster would be after me now. I'd ran. Accepted his challenge. Even then I could feel the pounding vibrations beneath my feet that threatened to trip me up as it charged after me.

My feet flew, keeping pace with my ever-quickening heartbeat as I drove forwards desperately. Terror snapped at my heels, its sharp teeth driving me forwards.

The walls exploded behind me as chunks of stone and metal were thrown over my head and smashed just in front of me, so I had to dodge to one side.

Great. Now he was throwing things at me.

A slab of the floor narrowly missed my ear, causing me to swear breathlessly. At least he had pretty poor aim, but even so I adopted a series of ducks and swerves to make myself a harder target. Down the corridor. Then right, then down another corridor, and then left. It was like a maze, and I barely had time to take in my bearings before I was at another turning and had to blindly take the easiest way out.

I could smell his fetid breath now he was so close. Hear the rumbling growl in the back of his throat. I was tiring; my muscles hadn't been used for fourteen years and now they screamed at me for the way I was abusing them. My breath came out in short, tortured gasps.

More boulders of twisted metal and crushed wood were thrown my way with the force of a deep sea wave on the flank of a cliff, and I only just managed to avoid them by the skin of my teeth. I couldn't keep going, not forever. Eventually he was going to get and it would all be over. Each missile's impact sent a jarring impact through my legs until I could barely feel them, and no matter how much adrenaline my body produced, it couldn't mask my exhaustion.

Abruptly, I skidded to a halt. In front of me was a blank wall. Dead end.

Why a corridor would suddenly just stop I had no idea. But there it was, a stubbornly solid wall that no amount of punching would remove. Unless you were a Hulk.

But I wasn't a Hulk. I was a kid, and I was so, so tired. My knees gave way, and I let myself slide to the floor in defeat. This was how it was going to end.

Part of my brain screamed criticism. _Why are you so weak?_ it chastised. _This is the second time you've collapsed._

_I was drugged the first time,_ I tried to reason. _And I'm only fourteen years old for crying out loud. Cut me some slack._

_No excuse,_ it sniffed.

Well it was official. I'd gone insane. I mean, who had arguments inside their own head?

A shadow fell over me, and I craned my head back to look into the face of the Hulk. Its thick musk of sweat caught in my throat and turned my tongue sour. Those small, merciless eyes regarded me coldly, glittering perhaps in the excitement of the chase, or more likely in anticipation of the kill. Its lips curled back in a terrible snarl, and I shut my eyes. I couldn't watch.

A thud. A frustrated roar. More thuds, followed by the distinct chime of metal.

And I wasn't dead.

Curious, I cracked one eye open.

The Hulk was a few feet away, furiously throwing punches and lumps of broken wood at a barely visible target. They seemed to miss, which only made him howl and rip down the walls even more violently. As I watched, it lunged forwards, and the unmistakable hollow _clunk_ of metal rang in my ears. It reeled backwards in evident pain, and an inhuman scream was torn from between his teeth.

"Banner, you need to calm down-" I jumped at the sudden anguished cry. The Hulk's target suddenly dived into view, narrowly missing being swept aside by a hefty projectile of metal and insulation ripped from the wall. I caught a flash of blonde hair, and a red and blue shield.

Rogers! He was still alive! Relief flooded through me. The mere sight of him ducking blows and deflecting rogue missiles made me consider that it was possible that I - we - could get through this.

I stumbled to my feet. Grabbed at the slippery wall behind me for support. I was in pain, barely in control, and yet I managed to stifle my movements - keep them smooth and slow so as not to attract unwanted attention.

The two continued to battle before me, and I desperately wished that there was something I could do. The Hulk had lost all interest in me now; his attention was fixed on his new opponent who was proving to be much too interesting to let slip. With a deafening roar, he swept a mighty fist at Rogers.

Rogers dodged, and deflected the worst of the blow with his shield, but he was still propelled backwards from the force of the punch, and hit the wall with the impact of a speeding car. There was an ominous _crack_.

Oh my God. I fell to my knees. "Captain Rogers?"

His eyes were scrunched tight with pain, and every breath was ragged, but he was still alive. He struggled to stand, but fell back with a groan. "Can't…" he tried to say.

"No, I think I've got this one covered." The vague scraps of a plan were drawing together in my mind, a plan revolving on the weird things I'd done back in the lab, plus some chunks of science that had at that moment decided to float into the forefront of my mind.

There was no guarantee it would work. If worst came to the worst, I could grab the shield and run, encouraging the Hulk away from Rogers whilst also gaining a chance of escape. But I remembered clearly the wind-like force I'd seemingly conjured from nowhere that could push men back and halt bullets. A bit like a bulletproof vest. But if I could combine it with Newton's Third Law*, then maybe I could form it into an immovable wall…

But what I needed was pain, hot fresh pain that seared white and metallic behind my eyes and on my tongue, in order to trigger that much power.

The beast was already looming over us, a cruel sneer on its face. His prey were cornered. No way out.

Or so he thought.

I fought back the mental images that my brain 'helpfully' supplied of what he would do to us, and looked down at Rogers. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he panted for air. Sweat trickled from his brow, and several more cuts had opened up on his face that dribbled fresh blood. He was completely spent. But there was still something he could do for me.

"Stamp on my foot, hard as you like," I muttered.

He looked like I'd just asked him to kiss me. "What?"

"Just do it, please."

"But-" I cut off his protests with a specially whipped up death glare, and braced myself.

He decided not to question my intent, and instead brought his shoe down swiftly on my bare toes.

It hurt. A lot.

A familiar surge of power coursed through me as I swallowed a scream, power that leapt out and formed a shimmering haze between us and the Hulk, a peculiar quivering in the air like on a very hot day. An artificial wind whipped at my clothes and hair as I tried to maintain the flow. I could barely see a thing, but we weren't dead; no green fist had plucked us up and snapped us in half like we were merely oversized toothpicks. For now we were okay.

There was a growing ache in my gut as I forced out as much energy as I could, every burning droplet I could muster from inside myself. I wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer.

"How are you doing that?" I heard Rogers shout.

"I don't know!" I tried to yell back, but my voice was ripped away in the howling gale.

And then it suddenly stopped. The wind, the shimmering wall, they all just vanished. The three of us were left in a startled silence, and I noted with a vague sense of smugness that the Hulk was lying halfway down the hall, and making no effort to get up.

I'd done it.

A brief upsurge of something akin to amazement combined with satisfaction breezed through me. Of course that was before my eyes rolled back into my head and I collapsed to the floor for something like the second time in the last few days.

I'd used up too much; I instantly felt dead on my feet, an empty sort of exhaustion that made my head feel light and fluffy, like I could just float away instead of using legs that were about as substantial as cooked pasta.

As I slipped into black, the last thing I saw was Roger's face suspended over my own, his grey eyes burning in anxiety, and his mouth opened in a shout that I couldn't quite hear, that couldn't penetrate the deafening silence that clouded my senses.

Then he looked up, and fear was carved into his every movement as he raised his shield.

***Just for those of you who aren't particularly 'sciencey', Newton's Third Law is that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Next chapter guys! Warning: numerous mentions of pop tarts and Coke are scattered throughout this chapter! :) I've finally introduced Subject 9 to the rest of the gang, and I must admit, this chapter was (to put it bluntly) a bugger to write. As always, reviews are extremely helpful.**

**By the way, I just want to say thank you to everyone who's taken the time to sit down and read this - i****t's lovely to know that people are enjoying what I'm writing in my spare time, and some people have said some truly delightful things about my work. Keep those reviews coming in; I can't get enough of them!**

**So enough of my blabbering. Read on!**

After my run-in with the Hulk, things changed dramatically.

I woke up in a room panelled with glass so that instead of paint, the walls were decorated with a floor to ceiling view of New York. The glass glittered almost painfully in the bright sunlight of a summer's afternoon. The room was huge, and sparsely yet carefully furnished. A rug was spread across the floor, a few chairs and coffee tables strewn around carelessly. Priceless works of art were strung from the walls; all quite modern works consisting of bright blocks of colour and intricately woven shapes which I quickly decided weren't to my taste at all. I lay on a richly upholstered leather sofa across from a TV and games cabinet. Further behind me, the room rose in a short flight of steps to a large platform occupied with large tables that curved to fit with the walls, each one laden with electronics and screens. Through another doorway I could see flashes of a modern kitchen.

I felt okay, just exhausted. I'd never tried to hold back such a strong force before, and the power required had been colossal. I might've even died. I pondered on earlier events, and decided to test the extent of my powers later on. I got the feeling that I had no idea what I was dealing with, and if I didn't find out quickly, fainting would quickly become a regular habit.

But where was I? I stood warily, glad to find that the shakes in my legs had gone, and crept around the room, cautious for any cameras or tripwires I might set off. There wasn't much to see. After poking through a stack of car magazines and opening a few drawers, I became decidedly bored. I mean, it was nice to be able to relax for a change, but then I almost missed poking people with sharp words and watching them squirm under my intense glares.

The windows piqued my interest, and I sat down beside one that threw a patch of warm sunlight onto the polished floorboards. The glass was surprisingly warm through my t-shirt; after a brief hesitation I let my head rest against its smooth surface, and turned my eyes on the view laid out in front of me like a map.

The world was spread out beneath my feet, but it also reached far above my head - the tower I was in clearly wasn't one of the tallest New York had to offer. Everything pulsed with a hard white light in the midday sun, and even this high up I could still hear the faint roar of impatient traffic that wended its way in a multicolour river through the endless maze of glass peaks and glorious towers seemingly made of glittering ice.

It was a magnificent view, and made me feel both terribly small, and yet important. The sheer scale of the world outside of my tiny glass tower was immense, and it dwarfed me in more ways than I could possibly imagine. But yet I was caught up in a mess that seemed bigger and more dangerous than the sprawling metropolis below could ever be.

A movement caught my eye, and I leapt to my feet. I knew the people here weren't going to hurt me (hopefully) since I'd need to be handed back in one piece, but I wasn't really going to take any chances.

A group of three people strode in. One of them was Tony. The other two were unknown, but they stank of authority; the pungent waves that wafted towards me made me wrinkle my nose in disgust.

Tony grinned. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, you've finally woken up!"

I bristled at his teasing. "Well I had no idea saving your friend's sorry butt would be so tiring."

He smirked. "Touché." He made his way into the kitchen, and a hollow echo of his voice rang out through the doorway. "Can I get you anything? We've got waffles, pancakes, toast…" There was a hurried rustling as he dug through a cupboard. "Aha, that's where the pop tarts went!"

My stomach growled in protest at the mention of food. "What are… pop tarts?" I asked hesitantly.

He poked his head round the doorframe, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Seriously?"

I shrugged helplessly.

"Right kid, prepare to be amazed!" There was a deafening clatter of pans and kitchen appliances mingled with several ripe curses, that I listened to with great interest and stored carefully for future use. He was probably going to be some time; going by the smirks on the faces of the strangers on the sofa, he was no chef.

Sure enough, at least half an hour later he came stumbling back out proudly toting a large tray. There was a fresh red bruise across his forehead, and somehow he'd managed to rip out a small clump of hair from the back of his neck, but the food was more like food and less like the black shrivelled mess I'd been expecting.

I gingerly took one, and nibbled on a corner. It was good. More than good. Only then did I realize that the last time I ate was yesterday morning, and from then I'd been madly dashing about in order to save my own skin. Naturally, I was starving.

It took every ounce of my self control to chew slowly and politely rather than swallowing each one whole, and even when one plate was empty hunger gnawed at my sides like a dog on a bone.

"Better?"

"Um… yeah. Thanks," I said awkwardly. Suddenly people were being _nice_? Personally, I preferred the out-and-out threats and curses. At least then I knew where I stood, and could take the offenders down with a nicely aimed kick to the groin without feeling too guilty.

"How is Rogers?" I wanted to know that my fainting fit hadn't been in vain, and I felt slight uneasy about the last image my brain had provided me with, where Rogers had seemed to ready himself for some form of attack. I could still recall the unease that had been drawn in every muscle.

"What, Steve? Yeah, he's fine. A bit shaken up, but alright."

"Where were you in all of this?" I folded my arms crossly. "And how would a _suit_ help you fight?"

He barked with laughter. "You're thinking of the wrong sort of suit," he said cryptically. "Anyway, I did help. You were just too busy reeling on the floor to notice."

I scowled. "Funny man."

"Oh, you think so?" His face practically lit up.

I grinned. "No."

He put his hand to his chest as if my word had been a bullet. "Why so cruel?" he moaned.

"This is the kid?" One of the strangers gestured towards me, a guy with short sandy hair and an impassive face. A bow lay across his lap, and he unconsciously fiddled with the string whilst he fixed me with a piercing green stare. It was a gaze that never missed its mark.

A little unnerved, I got up and put a little distance between us. There was something in his posture, the way his eyes instinctively scanned the room at regular intervals that suggested he wasn't particularly trustworthy. Not that I was ready to just toss my alliance into the laps of any old person who just so happened to know a little about me.

"Yeah." Tony pinched a pop tart from the second plate and jammed it into his mouth. He spoke around it with great difficulty. "She kinda saved Steve's life."

"So it's true?" The sandy-haired man eyed me with something like respect.

"Well, before we stepped in. Captain Spandex will live to see another day." Tony snatched up another pop tart, examined it, and then bit off a corner savagely.

"Hey, I just saved your friend's sorry skin. Can I get a little gratitude?" I snapped.

"Well sure, I mean you rescued my main source of fun, but I've now got to continue living with Mr Morals."

"Sorry?"

"Tony's goal in life is to wind up Steve as much as humanly possible," the sandy-haired man explained dryly. "Unfortunately, that also seems to be Steve's favourite pastime. The two of them make for an interesting evening."

"I object to that," Tony said sulkily, sounding like a child dodging a blame that it was obviously due. "He always starts it."

"Yeah, yeah." The sandy-haired guy rolled his eyes, as if they'd had this discussion many, many times before, and instead turned back to me, his eyes finding mine with disconcerting accuracy. He extended a hand over the back of the sofa, presumably for me to shake. "I'm Clint Barton by the way. Sorry we were late to the party."

"Subject 9. Hello." I forced a smile and ignored the hand; so far I hadn't exactly been treated with courtesy, so I wasn't going to be offering any back any time soon. I also didn't like people getting too close.

He raised an eyebrow, withdrawing his hand. "Bit of a mouthful, isn't it?"

I shrugged.

"I thought so too," mused Tony. "She needs a nickname really."

Why were they trying to be so nice? I didn't understand why they were making so much effort to act as if I were normal. I knew my position, they knew theirs. Ignoring that and trying to cover it up with smiles and pop tarts was only going to make things worse. It was for the best that I remained cold and closed off - better for everyone, in the long run.

"You're not particularly talkative, are you?" Barton said.

"Why, should I be?"

"You should've heard her in the Cube." Tony smirked. "It was all I could do to get a word in edgeways."

"And what a tender world that was," I said scathingly.

He opened his mouth, no doubt to parry my verbal attack with some choice words, when he was interrupted. "Guys, please." The other person had remained perfectly silent, until they piped up. Or rather, until _she_ piped up.

I finally noticed her, and when I examined her face, I literally jumped back in shock, my defence mechanisms kicking back into full throttle. "It's you!"

"Hey, cool it!" Her familiar red hair curled around a blank mask of a face.

"What's the problem?" Tony enquired.

"She's the whole reason I'm here!" I spat.

"Not completely - Steve helped," she said.

"Yeah, well he at least had the decency to apologize."

"I fail to see why I should apologize for doing a job well," she stated plainly.

I glowered silently, unable to find a logical-sounding response. Because really she was right: in her view, she had done a good job. Her and Steve, they'd brought me in relatively quickly, although possibly not quite as cleanly as they'd hoped. However, from my viewpoint, she'd done her job badly by dragging me back into the world I was fighting so hard to evade.

"Natasha, leave it," Clint muttered as he saw the murderous glint in my eye.

Thankfully, the door clicked open before there was any chance of a fight kicking off (which was entirely plausible given that Natasha was now shooting some very nasty looks my way), and Fury strode in with Steve close at his heels, along with another man I wasn't familiar with. Steve still had a shield slung over one arm, and had changed into fresh clothes, although the gashes on his face were still a livid red, and all the way up his forearm you could see the bruises from where he'd borne the brunt of the Hulk's attack.

The newcomer hovered by the door, polishing a pair of glasses on the hem of his shirt. His eyes nervously flickered around the room like a cornered animal's.

Fury fixed me with a steely glare with an intensity that surely only two eyes could convey. I returned the favour with the most insultingly innocent gaze I could possibly muster, and was pleased to see a muscle twitch in his jaw. It was a minuscule victory, but a victory nonetheless.

"Sit down, please," he growled.

"I'm alright. Thanks." I crossed my arms defensively over my chest.

Fury clenched his jaw but said nothing. Tony and Barton watched our exchange nervously, and Steve edged slowly out of the range of fire. He obviously scared the living daylights out of everyone else, myself included, but I was so not going to give him the satisfaction of beating me.

"Fine," he eventually ground out. "Either way, I'm here in order to organise your… position." He continued briskly like he wanted to get this conversation done as quickly as possible. Naturally, this suited me just fine.

"You already know that you'll be kept here for a week before being returned to the NYBU."

"Yes." I made sure to fill that monosyllable with disgust as cold as liquid nitrogen.

Fury continued, oblivious to my carefully sharpened words. "They're working to patch up their security and replace the staff you injured, so you may have to stay here longer.

"Fine."

"As for where you'll stay…" Fury's lip curled as if the words themselves tasted bad. "Captain Rogers has kindly… persuaded me to allow you free roam of Stark Tower, although you are not to leave the Tower under any circumstances."

Jeez, he was making me feel like Rapunzel now.

"You've been assigned a room to sleep in, which will be locked and guarded every night since we're not taking chances. However, don't think that I won't hesitate to put you back into the cube if necessary. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. And let's keep it that way." With that, Fury swept from the room, his coat flapping like a cape behind him.

Tony sighed. "He does love to be dramatic."

"Don't I know it," I growled. Suddenly I was feeling far more disposed towards Tony and Co - every encounter I had with Fury left me with the feeling that I'd just dumped an entire bag of frozen peas down the back of my t-shirt.

Steve came forwards from where he'd been skulking in safety from Fury's wrath, grinning a little sheepishly as if Fury's blatant child abuse was in fact all his own fault. "Sorry about Fury. He's not exactly the friendly type."

"No, I'd already figured that out for myself."

"He's also not fond of being convinced to change his mind."

"Well what I really want to know is why you tried to change his mind - and surprisingly succeeded - in the first place."

"Because I feel sorry for you." He clearly saw the annoyance in my face, and hastily changed tack. "And I also owe you for saving my life."

"Well, you did save my life maybe a few minutes before I saved yours, so I'd say we're even," I corrected. "But thank you. I appreciate it." I flashed him a rare smile.

However much I tried not to, I couldn't help but automatically like Steve. He was kind and honest, and genuinely seemed to give a damn about me as a person rather than some rather temperamental experiment.

"Bruce!" Tony exclaimed, striding over to greet the newcomer. Bruce flinched a little as Tony lightly punched him in the shoulder. "Big guy! How're you holding up?"

Bruce smiled thinly. "A little delicate, but I'll be fine." He grimaced at Steve. "Sorry Captain."

"It's quite alright Doctor Banner."

"Oh yeah, Bruce, this is Subject 9. You met earlier."

"Oh, hello." He smiled apologetically. "I'll admit you probably didn't see me at my best."

"Oh. So you were… Oh." I vaguely remembered something Steve had told me earlier, but seeing the truth standing in front of me, however impossible it had first sounded, wasn't exactly easy stuff to digest. I swallowed nervously.

"I'm sorry," he said. His eyes were full of guilt, and for a moment I wasn't sure whether he talking about Hulking out on me, or the hand he possibly had in my capture.

"No, no, it's fine. Gave me some exercise. Anyway, I know how hard it is to keep your cool around here."

He seemed to appreciate my attempts to make light of things, and joined the others on the sofa. "Are those... pop tarts?"

"Ooh, I'd forgotten about those!" Tony eagerly went back to munching on the jam-filled pastries.

Steve watched me as I eyed the large group warily, and gently tapped me on the shoulder. "Would you like it if I showed you your room?"

"Yes please." Frankly, I needed some alone time to set my head straight, and decide what my next move was going to be. I also stank - I may be some sort of super-human, but if anything that had just doubled the amount of sweat I was producing. A shower would be _fantastic_.

I followed Steve down a corridor with spacious stone walls and a thin cream carpet, broken at regular intervals by doors that were all firmly shut. Probably other bedrooms. When we reached the end of the corridor, just before it turned off down a curving staircase, he pushed a door open.

"This is yours," he said.

I peered in cautiously. It was massive, with arcing stone walls and a cool flagstone floor. A huge double bed dominated the room, and other, more modern features were scattered about: a chest of drawers, a chrome topped desk with a spinning chair (score!), and a mini-fridge that wasn't particularly mini. A plasma screen TV was secured onto one wall, but I doubted I would need it due to the view - one wall was a flawless, floor to ceiling window that looked out over the heart of New York in the dazzling sunshine. An ensuite bathroom led off from the main room, that was fully stocked with various bottles of shampoos and body scrubs, all in exciting colours. I made a metal note to find out later what would happen if I mixed a few together.

"Wow," I eventually said. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

"I'm glad you like it. I managed to filch some of Natasha's clothes for you; they'll be in the drawers." He grimaced. "I almost forgot. You're supposed to be back here at ten o'clock every night so Fury's guards can secure the door."

"Oh what, I have a curfew?" I rolled my eyes. Sometimes Fury was such a drama queen. Where on earth did he think I was planning to go?

Steve grinned at my whining tone. I scowled at his mirth. "It's not funny. Why's Fury always such a grouch?"

He smirked. "I often ask myself the same question. Let me know if you need anything."

"Well, you still owe me that story about that alien-invasion-thingy."

He nodded. "Noted." And with that, he slipped out of the room, and let the door snap shut.

I sighed in relief as my defenses dissolved away. Alone. At last.

The first thing I did was take a long shower, whilst trying to use as many of the various lotions as possible, my favourite of which was an electric blue gel that fizzed angrily under the steaming downpour. I emerged feeling fully refreshed, if a little damp, and with some trepidation burrowed around in the chest of drawers for some fresh clothes, and ended up in a pair of slim-fitting black jeans, and a white t-shirt.

Everything was a little baggy, even though it was clear that Natasha was devastatingly slim - but then, I had to remind myself, I was barely a fleshed-out skeleton. I guessed that was what happened if you lived on drips for fourteen years. Those looking to lose weight should definitely try it.

I swiped a can of something called Coke from the fridge, and spent a good twenty minutes attempting to open the can, and then another five minutes choking when I took a swig, and all the bubbles went down the wrong way.

Then I sat by the window - _my_ window, at least for the time being - and let my eyes rest on the new York skyline. The heat radiating through the glass lent me a sense of calm, and I almost felt happy as I looked out across the city, a crawling ant's nest activity, even in the heavy heat of the afternoon. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and opened up my mind. I finally allowed myself to think properly.

First off: what I was going to do. There was no way I was going to stay here, and get handed back to my previous world of monochromatic tones and bone-numbing chill.

I didn't have a plan. That was painfully obvious. But for now, I wanted to stay here. It was nice, and for once I had some free rein, something I wasn't going to pass on quite so hastily. What I wanted to do was bide my time, build up some strength and earn the trust of those around me before making my final move.

Satisfied with this strategy, I took another gulp of Coke, and pondered over what to think of everyone. Steve and Tony seemed alright, friendly even, and so did that other man - Clint, although there was still something about him that wasn't quite honest, something in his eyes that suggested that he knew more than he would ever let on.

Fury, on the other hand, was a completely different kettle of fish, more like a kettle of sharks, or piranhas. The name was enough to set my teeth on edge. The guy was carved from ice, and was also the string-puller around here, or the puppet master. The organ grinder. Whatever. Basically, whatever he said was law. Either way, I had this uncomfortable sort of feeling that he was the only one I really needed to keep an eye on, the real enemy in this game. I made up my mind to steer clear of him, although that shouldn't be too hard since he already kept his distance, like one might keep well away from a dog with rabies, fleas, and a really mean temper.

Was there any food in the fridge? I got up and had a quick scrounge through, and then puffed out my cheeks in annoyance. Not so much as a crisp. Lots more Coke though. I thoughtfully popped another can of soda.

I had a great afternoon, followed by an equally nice evening. No one so much as peeped through the keyhole to check on what I was doing, although I did realize with a slight misgiving that there might be cameras.

I spent most of the time watching TV, in the vague pretence that it might update me on what I'd been missing, but in reality it had me fascinated. There had been a chat show about mother-daughter relationships, which I had skipped since it had been incredibly dull and didn't exactly relate to me anyway. The news had been interesting - but after five minutes I began to consider ending my life by pulling my brain out through my nose with my own fingers. The dating channel had been weird, and people had introduced themselves to the sorry viewer as flirtatiously as possible, with lots of giggles and tossing of hair from the women, and general muscle flexing from the men. Then a number scrolled along the bottom of the screen. I had gotten so confused, that I had given up and landed on some sort of action channel that had kept me enthralled for hours.

I sat, glued to the screen, until the sky outside darkened to an eerie black, peppered with tiny white stars.

The reminder of how time had slipped by suddenly cued a wave of complete exhaustion. I let the screen fizzle out into blackness, and then curled up under the duvet. My eyelids sank shut, and I was locked in a world of dark. Instantly, every other sense was on red alert, trying to cover for my lost eyesight. Without my eyes, I was open to any sort of attack you'd care to mention, and it took a great deal to keep them shut and not to leap up wide eyed.

_I need to sleep_, I told myself wearily. _Let me go to sleep_.

Reluctantly, my panic subsided, and I eventually drifted off.


End file.
